#might go up on AO3 as

[frankierotwinkdeath]

Y’all want Taylor Swift to be gay so bad but you won’t even write femslash about her

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[alittlebitofwonk]

Etho is familiar with the weird rules that come with being a server admin. He’s known Xisuma long enough to know that being an admin comes with perks, but also sometimes just… weird shit. He doesn’t pretend to get all of it, but he knows enough.

So, when the admin of a completely different server suddenly drops into spawn, fighting with his com and cursing up a storm, Etho isn’t really that surprised.

What does surprise him is that the admin is… handsome. Really handsome. And also vaguely familiar, though Etho really only knows him through association. When you create one of the largest multinational, multilingual servers of all time, you gain a reputation.

“You alright?” Etho asks as Quackity (he’s pretty sure that’s his name) picks himself up, still muttering profanities as he dusts himself off.

“Yeah, just fine and dandy, if it weren’t for the fucking Hypixal transport fucking sending me to the wrong server again,” Quackity mutters, before pausing and sighing. “I’m… sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“Getting tossed into the wrong server must be jarring,” Etho says, sympathetic. It’s mostly admins that get that particular shaft, but it’s happened to him once, and it was… very confusing. “You’re an admin for the QSMP, right?”

Quackity looks up from his com, clearly trying to figure out where he is, and nods, smirking slightly. “I’m THE admin for the QSMP. The server has my name on it, after all.”

“I thought you were Quackity,” Etho mutters, watching as Quackity types a quick message, probably to Xisuma, before slipping the com away.

Quackity grins at him, leaning forward so he’s on the balls of his feet, honeyed wings keeping his balance, “Well, since you know me it would be a shame not to get myself acquainted with such a handsome man.”

It startles a laugh out of Etho, especially considering he was just thinking about how attractive the avian was. “Etho,” he says, awkwardly sticking out his hand, “Welcome to Hermitcraft!”

Quackity visibly relaxes as he shakes Etho’s hand. “Thank God this is Hermitcraft. I could’ve ended up somewhere so much worse.”

“You’re thinking 2b2t, I’m guessing.”

“Or any other anarchy server, they eat admins for breakfast,” Quackity says, repressing a shudder, and for the first time, Etho realizes his wings are clipped. Which is really odd, given that he’s, y’know, an admin. Maybe he clips them himself?

“Well, you’re in safe hands here,” Etho promises, and Quackity raises his eyebrow and smirks. “That’s not what I—“

“I mean, I’d hold your hand if you want,” Quackity says, and then laughs when Etho turns about five different shades of red in two seconds.

It's only then that Etho notices that it's beginning to get dark, the sun inching towards the horizon, and they're still at spawn. He gets the feeling that Quackity isn't going to be finding his way back anytime soon, so he turns to the admin and asks, "do you want to come back to my base with me?" Just as Quackity begins to snicker, something witty already on the tip of his tongue, Etho adds, "before it gets dark! To, uh, get away from the mobs. I have a spare bed."

"Damn, and here I was thinking I might bet to slip into yours," Quackity says, and damn he's smooth. Etho feels like an idiot with all his stammering and blushing, but Quackity doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. "Lead the way."

[phoenixcatch7]

Loz fandom stop being angsty and give the daydreaming kids on big fun adventures with a cool glowing sword some actual whimsy and joy challenge

[themaevethcometh]

okay i've had this scene from an au stuck in my head recently so here's 3k of timkon identity shenanigans where kon has been recently taken in by luthor for nefarious reasons and is forced to attend a gala where tim and bruce show up. robin hasn't revealed his identity to the team yet even though they've been friends for years. canon/timeline has been put in a blender and liquified.

Kon takes a deep breath in through his nose, holding it for a few seconds before slowly letting it out of his mouth.  It’s a technique that Robin taught the team when he was trying desperately to get them on a more bat-approved training regime, including meditation and an acrobatics routine that Nightwing allegedly used on the Teen Titans years ago.  Kon is fully aware that he’s got weird stuff going on with his body’s organs and systems compared to humans, but the slow, rhythmic breathing still brings comfort and helps center him, slowing everything down enough so he no longer feels like he’s going to accidentally fry someone with his heat vision.

He tugs at the collar of his dress shirt, gulping and taking a deep breath again.  The shirt and tie feels so much more restrictive than his Superboy uniform, tightening like a noose around his neck, and the inflexibility of the suit coat makes him feel like a stiff, awkward mannequin.

“Stop that,” Luthor says, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder.  Kon immediately stills, straightening and trying to relax at the same time.

“These people are vultures,” Lex says, voice low.  Kon tries to focus his super hearing on him, rather than the woman with the loud laugh across the ballroom or the clink of glasses down the hall where the staff is continuously loading and unloading equipment.  He can hear the steady beat of Lex’s heart, the rhythmic whoosh of air traveling in his lungs, the slight gurgle of his stomach (gross!).  Kon decides he doesn’t like listening to Lex Luthor very much.

“Remember what I told you,” Lex is still saying.  “Be on your best behavior.  Today is about getting your name and your face out there.  Be polite, but not a pushover.  Never let them see weakness.”

Kon forcibly bites back the retort that his only weakness is kryptonite and makes himself nod instead.

Luthor leads him over to a group of people with his hand still clamped on Connor’s shoulder like a shackle.  From there, it’s an exhausting parade of schmoozing with millionaires and billionaires, shaking hands firmly (but not too firmly!), laughing at unfunny jokes, and pretending that he loves dear old Dad instead of wanting to punt him through the nearest wall.

Kon is charming.  He knows this.  It’s something that he’s known since he freshly came out of a test tube, and it’s something that he’s perfected with smiles and body language and a well-placed word or phrase.  Kon can get most people eating out of his hand with barely any effort, but it’s usually normal people a little closer to his age, not rich, egotistical, out-of-touch old people who want to pinch his cheeks but absolutely cannot be allowed to due to his invulnerable skin.  Kon forgets everyone’s name almost as soon as he hears it, clutching his flute of sparkling cider like a lifeline (but not hard enough to shatter).

Kon doesn’t know how long he gets paraded around as Luthor’s newest pet, but it feels like forever.  Everyone talks around where he’s been for the past 17 years of his life (nonexistent and then in a lab and then gallivanting around with superheroes and then, finally, as of two month ago a little farm in Kansas until Lex Luthor uprooted everything with a few well-placed threats), and Kon lets Lex tell the cover story about how he didn’t find out about Connor until recently, but he’s happy to be reunited with his son now.

Son.  Connor isn’t anyone’s son.  He was maybe getting to be a family member to the Kents finally, but Luthor threw a wrench into all of that.

Connor had a room at the farm.  He had a chore list to do and homemade meals to eat, and Clarke has finally stopped flinching when he sees him.  Clarke grinned at him the other day, not his public smile or a small, polite thing, but an actual, honest to goodness grin.  Connor bets he can kiss that goodbye now, just like he can kiss goodbye ever knowing Robin’s real identity, because there’s no way that Batman will let him tell Kon now that Kon is semi-legally under the guardianship of a supervillain, and just like there’s no way that Kon can have anything remotely resembling a normal teenage experience as the ward of a billionaire and forced showpony, and just like–

“I’ll be damned,” Lex breathes next to him, interrupting Kon’s spiral.  Kon follows his gaze to the entrance of the ballroom, ears picking up the loud, boisterous laugh of Bruce Wayne clapping someone on the back a little too forcefully.  Kon has never seen Bruce Wayne in person, but he’s difficult to miss in the papers, especially with how often he finds himself in trouble.  Robin has told him of a few instances when he or one of the other Gotham vigilantes has had to rescue him, and Kon knows that Lois interviewed him once and Clarke has informally run into him at a gala such as this.

Clarke says he tried really hard to be the journalist from the Planet here tonight once Lex demanded that Connor be there, but it was too late notice.  Neither Clarke nor Lois are among the reporters clustered in the corner.  Kon is alone.

“He didn’t RSVP,” Lex says, miffed.  Kon immediately likes Bruce Wayne significantly more because of it.  “Oh, and he brought a friend.”

Kon peers around the crowd that has quickly amassed around Gotham’s favorite billionaire and finally spots the person Bruce Wayne has a hand on the shoulder of.  It’s a teenage boy, dressed in a dark suit with dark hair parted in the middle to keep it out of his eyes.  He’s slight, but not skinny, and he’s not overly tall, probably closer to Robin or Bart’s height than Connor’s.  He doesn’t show any signs of discomfort at the press of adults around him, offering polite handshakes and letting the women kiss his cheeks the way some of them have tried with Kon.  Bruce doesn’t stray far, taking the boy with him when they finally finish with the crowd near the door and head to the bar.  The boy doesn’t seem to mind the attention.  Kon, however, does not appreciate the tone of voice that Lex used when he said friend.  He’s ready to do some superheroing if he needs to.

“Let’s go,” Lex says, putting his hand on Connor’s shoulder again to steer him through the crowd.  “Let me handle Bruce Wayne.  The kid is Timothy Drake.  He recently became the head of his parent’s company when his father died.  This is the first time he’s been seen at an event since the death.  Bruce is almost certainly going to adopt him.  Timothy stayed with him when Jack Drake was in a coma, plus he has the dark hair and light eyes and Brucie favors in his kids.  He’s your focus for the rest of the night.  Forget about everyone else.”

“Lex!  I didn’t know you’d be here, you old dog!” Bruce calls before Connor has time to process all of that, slinging an arm around Luthor’s shoulders and seemingly crushing all of the air out of him in less than a second.

“It’s my party,” Lex wheezes.

“Good thing I’m here to liven it up, eh?” Bruce asks, elbowing Luthor in the ribs.

Kon really hopes that Bruce Wayne’s obsession with dark haired, light eyed boys is an innocent coincidence, because he doesn’t want to apprehend him for being a pedophile when he’s pissing Lex off so easily.

“Hello, Timothy,” Luthor greets, holding out his hand.  Bruce pouts at being ignored while Timothy shakes politely.  “May I just say, it’s refreshing to see you out and about.  I’m sure running your parent’s company is stressful all by yourself.”

Timothy tilts his head, reminding Connor vaguely of a bird.

“I’m happy to do it,” he says, polite but firm.  “It’s what my parents would have wanted, and they left things well organized for me.”

“And I suppose Bruce here has been giving you advice?”

“Now Lex,” Bruce says, wagging his finger at him, “you know that’d be a conflict of interest.  Besides, Tim could run circles around me.  I should be asking him for advice!”

Connor feels his eyes start to glaze over as Luthor and Bruce volley back and forth, seemingly forgetting that he’s even there.  Having Lex’s attention off of him and on someone else is a much needed break, so he’s not about to complain, but it’s also really fucking rude.  Connor hasn’t even been introduced to these two.

Timothy catches his eye, sweeping his gaze over to Luthor and Bruce and rolling his eyes.  Connor smirks.  Timothy raises an eyebrow and Connor mirrors him, just a slight quirk.

Timothy looks pretty nice, up close.  His eyes are the promised light blue, but his dark eyelashes are long and thick, framing them beautifully.  He’s pale, almost reflective in the glittering chandelier light, and he carries himself with a self-assuredness that Connor envies in this environment.  The suit fits him really nicely, hugging his shoulders and accenting his trim waist and long legs.  When he raises his flute to take a sip of the drink inside, Kon finds himself tracking the liquid as it disappears past his pale pink lips, his throat flexing as he swallows.

He’s not bad to look at.  He could easily turn out to be dull as a brick or a total douchebag, but so far first impressions are good.

“And who is this young man?” Bruce asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.  Luthor puts a hand on his back to push him forward a step, and Kon doesn’t have to move, but Lex is going to be mad if he doesn’t and the situation is delicate.

“This is my son, Connor,” Luthor introduces.  Kon offers his hand with his most charming smile.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking first Bruce’s hand (better grip than he expected) and then Timothy’s (rougher than he thought it’d be, skin warm).

“Son, eh?  He must take after his mother!” Bruce laughs.  Lex’s face pinches, but Connor doesn’t have a chance to relish in it before Bruce is sweeping Luthor away with another arm around his shoulder, talking loudly about secret children and parenting hacks.  Luthor tries to protest, but it’s quickly drowned out by Bruce, and he doesn’t have a chance to so much as glance back at Connor before they’re swallowed by the crowd.

Kon blinks.

“Bruce will keep him busy for a while, sorry,” Timothy says, not sounding very sorry.  He takes another sip from his glass, then leans in.  Cologne tickles Connor’s nose.

“Hold your drink by the stem, not the glass,” he says quietly.  “It’s supposed to keep your drink from getting warm, an old etiquette thing.  It’s small, but it’ll help you blend in a little more.”

Kon looks around the room, taking in the people with flutes like him and where they’re holding it.  The majority are holding the stem, and the ones that aren’t are people that Luthor hasn’t bothered to introduce him to yet.  Kon adjusts his grip accordingly, off-balance and embarrassed.

“Thanks,” he says.  Timothy tilts his head.

“You want to get some air?  There’s a balcony over there.  Your father will be able to find you easily once Bruce releases him.”

“Yes,” Kon agrees immediately.  He’s used to not fitting in, but having the eyes of so many judgy rich people on him when he’s pretending to be Lex Luthor’s human son has been exhausting.  No one has been too rude so far, but the weight of Lex’s hand on his shoulder is heavy, and this complicated set of social rules that he still doesn’t understand puts him on edge.

Normally he’d say fuck the rules and do what he wants, but the situation is too delicate for that.  Clarke and Robin both told him that he needs to be careful and think twice about every move he makes, and for once neither of them sounded condescending about it.  He could tell that they don’t like the situation, either, worry and sympathy clear in their faces.

“Come on,” Timothy says, heading towards a set of double doors.  He doesn’t glance back, trusting Connor to follow him, and Connor does, stepping in his footsteps as he expertly weaves through the crowd, deflecting anyone trying to stop to speak to them with smooth excuses and a well-placed smile.  In no time at all he’s pushing open the large french doors, releasing them from the ballroom and into the cool night air.

Kon tilts his head up, blinking at the night sky above him.  It’s cloudy, obscuring what few stars manage to make their way through the light pollution to reach Metropolis.  Connor wishes he could fly up there, feel the dampness of early rain on his face, burst into the dark and escape everything.  For now, he keeps his feet on the ground, instead joining Timothy by the railing.

“So, how often do you come to these things, Timothy?” Connor asks, leaning back on his elbows.  The other boy perches with a hip pressed against the railing, arms crossed over his chest.

“Tim, please,” he says.  “Timothy makes me feel like I’m in trouble or you’re trying to swindle me out of a business deal.”

“Okay.  How often do you come to these things, Tim?” Connor corrects, testing the feel of it in his mouth.  Tim relaxes at the sound.

“Decently often, but I usually stick to Gotham,” he says.  “I’ll have to start coming to more now that I’m in charge of Drake Industries, but I grew up going to galas.  Is this your first one since Luthor found you?”

“Is it that obvious?” Connor asks.  Tim smirks, but shakes his head.

“I think I’d remember if I’d seen you at one of these before.”

Connor flashes him a charming smile.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.”  Tim’s cheeks turn pink, his blush noticeable against his pale skin even with the limited light out here.  Kon takes a sip of his sparkling cider, satisfaction making it taste sweeter on his tongue.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re probably the only people under thirty in the whole building besides some of the catering staff,” Tim says. 

“You missed the toddler earlier,” Connor hums.  “She was throwing a tantrum.  I very much sympathized.”

“Did I really?” Tim asks dryly.  “What a pity.  Oh no.  How unfortunate that Bruce likes being fashionably late to everything.”

Connor snorts.

“Bruce Wayne, huh?” he says.  “How’d you two meet?”

Tim shifts so he’s leaning back against the railing like Kon.  Kon takes a moment to drink in his profile, tracing the sharp jut of his nose, the hair shielding his eyes from him at this angle.

“He’s my neighbor,” Tim says.  “I’ve kind of always known him, but our families weren’t really close until a few years ago.  When my dad was in a coma, Bruce took me in.  My uncle was supposed to get custody of me now, but…”

Tim trails off, searching for words.  Eventually, he shrugs.

“He’s fostering me right now.  We’ll see where it goes from there.”

“Do you want to stay with him?” Kon asks.  Tim considers his words carefully.  Connor’s mouth is always running away with him, but Tim seems to have the opposite approach.  Everything is measured and careful, cold and tactical.  It reminds Kon of Robin in the middle of missions, keeping his reactions even and methodical to counteract the impulsiveness of the rest of the team.  Kon wonders if Tim is the type of person to let himself be stupid and emotional around friends like Robin is, or if he always keeps everything bottled up.

“Yeah, I do,” Tim breathes eventually.  “But it’s complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

Another pause.  Kon does Robin’s breathing exercise, staying patient.  Some people need time to talk, and Kon can’t help if he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

“I guess I don’t want him to adopt me because he feels obligated,” Tim says.  “He has a family.  There’s–It’s a long story, too long to explain now.  Sorry, this is a weird first impression, huh? But enough about me!  What about you?  Where were you before Luthor found you?”

“Uh,” Connor says, still recovering from the whiplash of topics and searching for Luthor’s cover story.  “Kansas.”

“Kansas?” Tim prompts.

“Yeah, Kansas. I was in the foster system for a while, then I got adopted by this nice old couple who live on a farm in Smallville, which is just as small as it sounds.  I didn’t know anything about my birth parents until Lex showed up.”

“Wow,” Tim says.  “This has to be a big adjustment, then.”

Connor scratches the back of his neck.

“Yeah, kinda.”

Kon’s whole life feels like a big adjustment, from adjusting to existing and Clark’s negative feelings towards him, to adjusting to working for Camdus and living in Hawaii, to adjusting to Young Justice and Teen Titans, to finally trying to adjust to Smallville, only to be ripped away from that and forced into Metropolis high society.

“Do you miss them?” Tim asks.  “The old couple who adopted you?”

Kon swallows against the unexpected pang that rolls through him.  He can almost taste Martha’s pancakes on his tongue and hear the crinkle of the newspaper as Jonathan hands him the cartoons.

“I wasn’t with them very long.  Only a few months.”

Tim tilts his head.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Connor shrugs.  He doesn’t know what the right answer is here.  Martha and Jonathan are the closest thing he’s ever had to parents, but part of him never expected to stay with them.  When Luthor ripped him away from them, there was a part of Kon that wasn’t surprised at all, even if a bigger part was in agony.

Martha kissed his forehead when he left the farm and gave him a sad smile.

“You can always come back here, okay?  This is your home, no matter what Lex Luthor has to say about it.”

“If they formally adopted you, Lex Luthor’s claim as your biological father isn’t enough to force cut contact,” Tim says, pushing off the railing and taking a few steps closer.  “Trust me.  I researched this stuff when my dad came out of his coma.”

Kon frowns.

“He didn’t like Bruce?”

Tim wavers.

“It’s complicated,” he offers.  Kon snorts.

“Yeah, I get that.”

Tim’s mouth quirks up, giving Connor the shadow of a smile again.

“It’s not really a first meeting story.”

“Guess we need a second meeting, then,” Connor says.

“Yeah?” Tim asks.  “My weird family dynamic really captivated you, huh?”

“It was your eyes first, actually,” Connor says.  Tim opens his mouth, then closes it again, eyes wide.  Kon holds his breath.  He says flirty things all the time, both to his friends and to people he rescues who seem like they need a pick-me-up, but it’s been a while since he sincerely flirted with someone he plans to see again.  He almost never does it with someone who only knows him as Connor rather than Superboy, much less a boy.

If this goes badly and Tim tells the entire Metropolis elite that Lex’s son is a homosexual, maybe the scandal will be enough for Luthor to send him back to Smallville.  If it goes well…

“You have… very nice eyes, too,” Tim says eventually.  Connor beams, then beams even more at the sharp inhale Tim draws in response.  Tim shifts.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” he asks.  “There’s a decent ice cream place open late a few blocks away.  We can be there and back before anyone misses us.”

Connor glances towards Luthor in the ballroom.  He’s still talking to Bruce Wayne, and they’ve amassed a small crowd around them.

“Bruce will keep Lex busy for a while.  He likes to talk.  Besides, you can always tell him that you were networking,” Tim offers.

Luthor said that Tim should be his focus for the rest of the night.  He never said that they had to stay at the gala.

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing grandly towards the French doors.  Tim blinks once, then again, then smiles.  His eyes light up with it, and Kon suddenly understands why Tim had to inhale before.

“Come on,” Tim says, leading the way.  Kon follows just as closely as he did before, trailing him until they spill out into the Metropolis night and he can stand next to him, almost close enough for their arms to brush.

Maybe living with Lex Luthor won’t be so bad if comes with seeing Tim Drake, too.

[zukosdualdao]

i'm a worst case kid / in a plague pit town

zutara month, day 1: reluctant allies

summary: ever-slight canon-divergence in which zuko accepts katara's offer to heal iroh after feeling his too-weak, dying pulse, as his injury is bad enough zuko is unsure he will survive otherwise. not much else changes. it was never going to.

warnings: canon-typical depictions of injury, violence, and trauma responses.

other notes: title is a lyric taken from tommy lefroy's "worst case kid". starting pov is zuko's, ending pov is katara's. two pieces of dialogue are directly taken from the show.

*

The wind is whistling in this dry, abandoned, dead town, dead like—

Zuko does not shiver, and he does not cry.

He used to be able to tell himself things like that and mean it. When did that stop being true?

Uncle’s pulse is so faint, for a moment, he thinks it isn’t there at all. Even when he feels it, he knows it might as well not be. He might not have long at all.

Zuko hears the other footsteps approaching, their silence loud and almost mournful, but he bristles on instinct. They can’t see him like this, can’t see Uncle like this—how could he be so stupid as to turn his back on the enemy? 

“Get away from us!” he shouts as he looks back. They’re all staring at his uncle’s prone form, and Zuko turns back to him, too, heaving heavy breaths. He needs to do something, but he is weak, useless, outnumbered—

“Zuko, I can help,” the waterbender insists, and Zuko wants to snarl, yell, reach for his fire, and he raises his hand to do so—and frowns. 

What does she mean?

He looks back to where Uncle lies prone.

A heartbeat shouldn’t feel like that. The Dragon of The West shouldn’t go down so easily.

Uncle shouldn’t be able to seem so small and worn and fragile.

Slowly, Zuko lowers his hand and looks to her striking blue eyes. There’s no pity or malice there, he doesn’t think, she just looks… still cautious and unyielding, but sad and sincere, too.

He’s fallen for tricks like this before, though—Azula has always loved how easily she could fool him—and it feels a little like he’s standing on the edge of a steep precipice.

It would be naive to just… trust the word of an enemy. She has no reason to want to help him. He knows this.

The rest of them still watch his uncle’s maybe-dying form, but the waterbending girl stares at Zuko unflinchingly, almost as though in challenge.

Uncle groans brokenly, the noise like that of a wounded animal. 

“How?”

*

The world is dead silent.

The prince of the Fire Nation is staring at her with tears threatening to fall from his right eye, though not the left, which is twitching lightly. She’s never before noticed how he can’t seem to open it fully due to the scar tissue set against it. She’s never had much reason to take in his features as anything more than the face of their enemy. 

His gaze is still steely and untrusting. In this light, his scar looks violently red and painful. He asks after her offer with a voice that cracks, though he doesn’t seem to pay that any heed. His hair is short but growing in, and he’s traded out his Fire Nation attire for earthly green and brown robes. He looks so different from when they last saw him. 

He looks so… young.

It’s all a little bizarre.

“Be careful, Katara,” Sokka insists from behind her, though when she glances back, his focus is on Iroh, a complicated expression playing on his features. Aang is staring at him, too, eyes wide and verging on teary. She doesn’t yet know Toph very well, but Katara can tell her body is rigid, her feet tense as her toes curl into the dusty ground beneath them. Toph doesn’t know that Iroh has been their enemy. But Iroh also helped them at the North Pole, and again just now against that princess, Zuko’s sister, she supposes, with her calculating eyes and strange blue fire.

Katara nods but says nothing further. If Zuko was going to make a move against them, he could have done it when his sister vanished.

They had turned away from their futile attack against her, and he’d already been kneeling at his uncle’s side.

She approaches slowly, circling to the side opposite him. When she kneels and reaches for her waterskin, Zuko nearly growls and takes hold of the edge of Iroh’s sleeve tightly, like he might try to drag him away.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Katara says, flush with indignation. The dirt beneath her chafes her knees even through her clothing. “I need space to heal.”

“I’m not moving, so forget it.”

Katara tilts her head and looks into his eyes as he glares back. He now looks every bit the angry, hateful prince that had tracked them around the world for months, but she can see something else filtering through his expression, too, something like fear.

She almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it. Why should he be afraid of them?

“Fine,” she allows after a moment. “Just don’t get in the way.”

He nods tightly, and at the agreement, Katara opens her waterskin. She calls the water to her and sets it against Iroh’s the right side of his chest, his robes black and charred. Closing her eyes, she calls out to his chi and focuses her energy on it. She doesn’t know if she can do it, doesn’t know if Iroh is truly too far gone…

After a few long moments, his breathing evens, and Katara sighs. Across from her, Zuko’s features soften just a fraction, but when she meets his eyes, somehow, she knows exactly what they both are thinking, united in nothing but this.

It doesn’t change anything, Katara's thoughts insist as her friends draw closer. Zuko tenses again. It can’t.

[qsmpbutwithsignlanguage]

Anyway the most kudosed Brazilian Portuguese fanfiction on AO3 is a Guapoduo QSMP fanfic published in late August of 2023. And it's ahead of the Brazilian Portuguese translation of the most kudosed fanfiction on AO3 period. If you even care.

[hailsatanacab]

Your Favourite Author's Favourite Fic

in no way is this me sneakily trying to get fic recs out of people, but here's my new tag game!

Rules! When tagged, reblog with the fic you've written that you love the most

Not the fic with the most kudos, or the most comments, or the most hits, but the fic that you're the most proud of. I'm talking about the story that kept you up at night, the one that you still think about, the one that you wish more people would read

So, it's time to show off! I strongly encourage - in fact, I demand - that you give yourself some compliments, a well-deserved pat on the back, and tell us all the reasons why it's your favourite!

Then tag five people and make them go through it, too 🥰🩷

I'll tag @wolfjackle, @tourettesdog, @gilbirda, @die-erlkonigin6083, and @thewritingowl to get us started, please and thank you!!

[envyenvys]

Stobin Mandalorian AU part 1

(aka s3 stobin accidentally acquire a magic baby)

[You Are Here] [2] [3] [4]

It’s Robin that first hears the baby crying. She insists it’s coming from the vents on her right side — Steve’s left — but the concussion’s left everything kind of soupy so it takes him a few minutes to pick it out from the ever-present hum of the gate-laser and the rush of blood through his own ears. Once he notices it though, it’s hard to stop.

It’s a sad, lonely sort of crying that makes his heart ache. Robin makes a dubious sort of noise when he mentions this and insists that it’s probably just hungry — which Steve has to admit is likely, none of the Russians they’ve met so far can really be described as ‘nurturing’ — but something in his gut tells him that’s not it.

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything before the Russians come back with the doctor, and then they have a whole new set of problems to worry about.

The mysterious blue goop makes everything a million times soupier and having pliers around his fingernail is not great, but then Dustin and Erica are there and everything’s great again. Super great, even.

“Can you two hurry up?” Dustin hisses, pulling Steve upright when he starts to list to the side.

It’s a little difficult to navigate when your head is soup and your bones are blue and goopy and you’re bleeding from at least three places you weren’t bleeding from this morning, and Steve makes a valiant attempt to tell Dustin this because it’s important information he needs to know. He starts, then stops because he can barely hear himself over the siren and honestly this is just like earlier when he was trying to hear the— oh right.

“Baby,” Steve says, and Robin whips her head around in slow motion to stare at the vent.

“Did you just call me a baby?” Dustin demands, shoving them into the hallway.

“Nooo, no, no,” Steve insists. He takes two steps in the direction Dustin is going, then checks to see where the vent leads. It’s going in the other direction. He turns around. “Baby. The baby. Gotta get the baby.”

“It’s hungry,” Robin says decisively, even though Steve’s almost positive that’s not the problem.

“I don’t know why these two idiots are so focused on it but I did hear a baby,” Erica says, and Dustin groans.

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t think I was the only one around here with working ears,” she says scathingly. “Clearly I was wrong.”

Steve and Robin are already halfway down the hall. Robin stops, cocking her head like a bird, and gasps.

“I hear it! This way!”

She books it around a corner, and she might be only going half as fast as she usually does but she’s still a lot faster than Steve. He stumbles after her, clutching at the weird tubes on the wall for support.

“Get back here!” Dustin hisses, tugging at Steve’s arm. “We have to go!”

“Steve!” Robin shouts at the top of her lungs. “I found the baby!”

Steve manages to drag both himself and Dustin around the corner and into a small room with a metal door. Clearly he needs to start making Dustin exercise because he should not be weaker than Steve is when his bones are soup. Dustin should have solid bones — he drinks a lot of milk, and it’s like, scientifically proven that milk makes your bones stronger. It’s that vitamin — or is it a mineral? Ca— Cancer? No, wrong one. Ca-something. Robin would know.

Anyway Dustin has strong bones so obviously it’s a muscle thing that’s the reason why his arms are really weak and Steve should make him play basketball about it.

Robin’s holding a baby.

“Put that down,” Dustin insists, letting go of Steve to gesture at Robin. She pouts and cuddles the baby closer.

It’s such a cute, perfect baby too. Steve stumbles closer so he can look at the perfect baby. It has soft wisps of brown hair and squishy pink cheeks, and when Robin smooths a thumb over those squishy baby cheeks it stops crying and opens its big brown eyes.

“Steve,” Robin says, staring at him with her own wide eyes, “it’s a girl baby.”

“She’s perfect,” Steve whispers, and he wants to hold her so so bad but he can’t even hold himself up right now and the only thing worse than not holding her is dropping her so he has to leave her with Robin even though it kind of makes him want to cry.

He’s always wanted a baby.

“Okay,” he turns back to Dustin, who’s looking very stressed. “Now we can go.”

“What do you mean ‘now we can go’?”

“We have the baby, let’s go!”

“We can’t just steal a baby!”

“Yes we can,” Robin says, and starts walking out the door. “See? We’re stealing her. Easy peasy.”

“But—!”

“Let’s go, nerd!” Erica says, shoving them all out of the room. “Cry about it later, we need to leave!”

Steve stops to grab a few baby things, though there isn’t much. A white blanket, a few cloth diapers, and a thick stack of folders — the last of which aren’t baby things, but he assumes they’ll be important anyway. The stitching on the corner of the blanket reads ‘Два’, the same as the label on her metal crib.

“Aba,” he mutters, following them to the weird red car. “Like the band?”

Well, it’s probably a beautiful name for a baby girl. In Russian.

[Next]

[ad-astra-per-aspera-1389]

Okay, so I don't usually post my fics directly on tumblr (usually just on ao3 with a link on here) but ao3 is down atm and I finished the dbd x mphfpc fic!

Tagging @fellow-fandom-fruitifier bc he asked :)

Um...I'll add what would be tags here:

Fandoms: Dead Boy Detectives (TV), Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (Books)

Not really any necessary content warnings. Just a nice little case without anything dangerous, for once.

Word Count: 2069

The Case of the Lost Boys

Summary: The Dead Boy Detectives find themselves on the island of Cairnholm, investigating the whereabouts of a wandering ghost and his unfinished business.

While London alone was teeming with ghosts with issues to solve, occasionally ghosts brought cases from farther away. Typically, these cases were much simpler than what would, 25 years later, lead them to Port Townsend.

One of these cases, back in 1998, was The Case of the Lost Boys. 

The ghost of a young woman arrived in their office one afternoon. While the case didn’t necessarily concern her directly, she had spent a lot of time with the affected ghost. A young boy, around Charles and Edwin’s age, had been wandering the island of Cairnholm for decades, the woman said. He was looking for something—someone—that just wasn’t there. The woman paid them sufficiently, and Charles and Edwin agreed to take the case.

Mirror hopping led the two detectives through the mirror inside a bathroom, which was attached to a motel room, which was above a tavern. The sheer amount of noise coming from below caused Edwin to simply walk through the wall to get outside, instead of going down the stairs and through the tavern on the ground floor. It was one of several things that freaked Charles out every time Edwin did it. To his credit, however, Edwin was trying to do it less when Charles reminded him of it. However, that didn’t mean he didn’t still forget from time to time.

Edwin walked through a second floor wall and landed on his feet on the ground outside. A few minutes later, Charles was next to him, having taken the long way around. “Mate, you can’t keep doing that! I know you’re fine, but I still forget we’re dead sometimes.”

“Right, my apologies. I’ll use the door next time. I simply didn’t care to walk through such a loud establishment.”

“Next time, we’ll take the stairs and walk through a wall on the first floor, yeah?”

“Agreed. Now, let us track down this wayward ghost, shall we?”

After a bit of walking, the two detectives found the place their client had mentioned the boy to frequent. They had to wait a while, but, sure enough, the boy wandered through the bog and up near the old, previously bombed out house on the far side of the island. Once they were sure he’d stay there for a while, Charles and Edwin followed him up, Charles holding his cricket bat out in front of him.

“Excuse me,” called Edwin, “but we were called because we were told you might need help.”

The boy turned around. He’d been tearing through pieces of the house, searching. “My sister. She was here.”

“When it was bombed during the war?” asked Charles. He hadn’t quite gotten around to explaining the second world war to Edwin, but Charles knew London and other parts of the region had taken a lot of damage. He’d paid some attention during his history classes.

“Yes, but it always reset before anyone got hurt.”

“What do you mean, reset?”

“The bird reset it to the night before the house was destroyed. We would watch the show each night before bed. Then I went out one night, and I died. I can’t get back in. I haven’t seen her in years!” The boy punched a wall, causing chunks of it to fall out. Charles pulled Edwin backwards, out of the house entirely.

“I think he’s lost his mind,” said Charles, once he and Edwin were alone again. The two of them were poring over Edwin’s notes.

“It seems he’s lost his sister, and, though the house was bombed with her in it, he believes she’s alive.”

“He mentioned it all being reset. Sounds like a time loop, doesn’t it?”

“That it does, Charles, but we cannot see it, and therefore we cannot break it.”

“Is that even the problem, though? If he just sees his sister, he’ll move on.”

“That would be quite easy, Charles, if only we knew where the sister was.”

They didn’t even know the ghost’s name, and now they needed to find his sister, too? This wasn’t as easy as they thought it would be.

Charles and Edwin returned to the island the next day, after spending the night in the office reading up on time loops and delirium in ghosts. This time, they used the stairs to exit the tavern, and by the time they reached the old house it was midday. Despite the sun being high in the sky they still couldn’t see very well in the old charred house. Charles pulled two flashlights from his backpack and the search continued.

Eventually, Charles found a hole in the floor. “Edwin, come look at this!”

The boy in question followed Charles’s voice until they were both looking down into the hole. Edwin went down into the hole while Charles stood lookout, just in case the ghost boy made another appearance.

Inside the hole in the ground, Edwin found a trunk of old photos, featuring children doing largely impossible or supernaturally odd things. As he sifted through them, a second light appeared above his head. It was a soft glow, like a fireplace, and Edwin looked up right as Charles called, “Edwin?”

A girl stood next to Charles, holding a ball of flames above the hole to see into it better. Edwin heard her voice echo as she asked Charles, “What are you doing here? Who are you?”

“Stay back,” warned Charles, pointing his cricket bat at her.

“What. Are you doing. In our house?” asked the girl, punctuating each set of words with a few steps forward. Behind her, Charles soon noticed, were a smaller girl, likely about seven years old, and a boy the older girl’s age that gave off a faint buzzing sound if it was quiet.

“We were just leaving, actually.” Charles took a step back.

“Good,” said the girl.

“Emma,” said the younger girl, “we should go before we’re late for lunch.”

Emma grimaced, turning around towards the two that were with her. “I suppose so. The bird will be angry if we’re late.” She cast one last warning glare over her shoulder at Charles, and then the three of them were gone.

Edwin climbed back out of the hole, with help from a rope Charles had in his backpack, and reported his findings to Charles. “It appears to be a group of syndrigasti: a variant of human with an extra soul. These extra souls give them special abilities, such as the boy’s ability to do so much damage around this place, and the girl’s fire.”

“So, his sister must be one too?”

“Not necessarily. It’s a relatively rare condition, however, it is especially likely in this case. If he cannot find her, and neither can we, she’s likely in a time loop for the living. Only syndrigasti can enter, and we are not that.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad then, does it? He can go in himself and find her.”

“Not if he died in a certain way. If the creature that killed him consumed his extra soul, then he can no longer enter the time loop, as he said before. We will need to get the sister to leave the loop temporarily.”

“How do we do that?”

“I do not know. I suppose if we can find another occupant of the time loop, we may be able to get a message across. For that, however, we’ll need more information from the boy.”

“What about that girl, Emma? She had abilities, didn’t she?”

“We don’t know for sure that she lives there, though it is likely. Unfortunately, they’ve gone, and we still do not know how to enter the time loop.”

Later in the day, the detectives found the boy in the same place as the day before. Charles stood by with his bat while Edwin questioned the wayward ghost. They learned that the boy’s name was Victor, his sister’s name was Bronwyn, and that he had, in fact, died in the way Edwin had suspected. 

The one good thing about all this was that he remembered how to enter the time loop. Charles suggested writing on the cave’s wall and hoping they’d see it when one of them left again. Edwin, however, thought it might frighten the children if they saw a note reading “Bronwyn, your brother is looking for you”, considering Victor had been dead for decades.

Instead, Edwin wrote out a neat note and attached it to the wall of the cave:

Bronwyn Bruntley,

I am from the Dead Boy Detective Agency. We were called in about your brother. His ghost is still on the island in the present day. Until he has closure, he will not move on to his afterlife. Victor’s unfinished business is seeing his sister again. Once you receive this, it would help both of us if you could leave the time loop temporarily to reunite with your brother.

Sincerely,

Edwin Payne

Edwin and Charles stayed on the island late into the evening, watching the mouth of the cave for someone to take Edwin’s note. Eventually, the note seemingly disappeared on its own. It moved like it was being removed from the wall by a hand, but there was no hand. It floated through the cave and disappeared through the other end.

Less than an hour later, two girls and a floating hat emerged from the mouth of the cave, each of them able to see Edwin and Charles (or so they assumed). One of the girls, the one that wore trousers and a shirt, asked, “Are you Edwin Payne?” She held the note in her hands.

“I am Edwin Payne. You must be Bronwyn.”

“I am. You found my brother?”

“We did.”

Victor, who had been all but dragged over near the bog by Charles earlier, stepped closer to the girls.

“Wyn?”

“Victor!”

The two siblings embraced so tightly that anyone else might have bruised a rib from it. Edwin and Charles gave them a bit of space for their little reunion, until, eventually, Edwin had to burst their bubble.

“I do not mean to bring down the room, but since your unfinished business has now been finished, Death will be coming to collect you shortly. Therefore, Charles and I must be going, now.” Edwin turned on his heel and began to walk away, Charles shortly behind him. 

Then, the other girl, Emma, called out, “Wait!” and Edwin stopped. He turned back around to look at her.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know if you work with the living at all, but I’ve been looking for a certain boy since the last war. If I give you a name, can you send the results to our post box in town?”

Edwin’s expression softened slightly, and he pulled out his notebook and pen. “Of course. What is the name?”

“Abraham Portman.”

This second, smaller case did not require that the Dead Boy Detectives remain on Cairnholm. The two of them did, however, have to use their disguises that would allow them to appear living. They searched computers and phone directories until they found the man Emma had been looking for.

The two ghosts finally found Abraham’s house in Florida, in the United States. Mirror hopping there was easy. The difficult part was deciding how to explain it to Emma. Abraham was married by then. He had a wife, two children, and his son even had a son of his own. So much time had passed since Emma was this young. Edwin understood far better than he’d have liked to.

Edwin ultimately wrote Emma, sending the letter to the postbox she gave the address to. Charles looked it over for sensitivity purposes, and then off it went. A week later, Edwin received a letter in return, thanking both he and Charles for putting in the effort to help her, even though she didn’t get the answer she wanted. Attached were a few paper bills as payment.

Although Edwin continued to be baffled as to how she was returning his letters, he continued sending them. As it turned out, despite having so many other children living with you, the novelty of a ‘pen pal’, as she called it, was slow to wear off. 

Letters were sent back and forth between Cairnholm and London regularly for a solid twelve years, and then, suddenly, they stopped. Edwin, unsurprisingly, began to worry. That is, until he received a letter from Florida, instead of Cairnholm.

Emma, it seemed, was doing just fine.

[kritischetheologie]

UNREDACT THE PIPELINE

since I just got another ask about this... here's some c kritischetheologie lore.

almost exactly three years ago, in summer 2021, one of my irl friends told me I had to watch this show drive to survive because it had everything: hot rich boys with a death wish, psychological drama, etc. so I watched it, along with most of our friend group, which had been a watchgroup for the bachelor, and is now the "irl f1 groupchat" I sometimes mention. I was 27 at the time, and married.

almost exactly two years later, about a year ago, my now-ex husband and I agreed that we should file for divorce.

I hate every Personal Essay About Divorce except the one that's also a recipe for poached eggs, so I won't write one here. what I will say is that my experience getting involved in f1 fandom is inextricable from my path to divorce, for which I am unspeakably grateful. it likely would have happened anyway, in a world where I never found formula 1 or the fandom around it, but in this world, how it happened was that kritischetheologie became a version of myself who could be all the things I wasn't letting myself be anywhere else, an independent identity I liked a hell of a lot better than whoever it was I was pretending to be at home. writing fanfiction gave me a voice and an outlet to express desires and fears I had been afraid to admit even to myself. my mutuals became a community that I was a member of as a complete individual, rather than as half of a couple. and the other people going through similar experiences guided me, supported me, and put up with way too much of my shit, making what had always seemed impossible suddenly feel entirely possible.

(I make it sound like it was all great, but of course it wasn't, for me or for others. there's some people in this fandom I hurt during that time, in the ways that people who are desperately in pain often can hurt other people, and I'm so sorry to them.)

so anyway, that's the pipeline: dts to divorced.

and in case you're wondering, the friend who first suggested I watch dts is still an f1 fan, and a daniel girlie to boot, which is why I sometimes joke that "I'm daniel ricciardo and I'm a car mechanic" is the sentence ever spoken that has had the single greatest impact on my life.

[thegamingcatmom]

Instinct (Tanya Denali x fem reader)

Right so, how do yall think single!Tanya would react if she just kinda...stumbled upon the one, completely unexpected? One would think if you got a cousin who's able to see the future then surely they would've given you a lil heads-up, so you wouldn't make an absolute fool out of yourself.

Spoiler alert: Alice did not give her a lil heads-up.

However-

Before we dive deeper I feel like it should be mentioned our girl´s been existing for a millenium, doing pretty damn good without someone constantly breathing down her neck, tyvm. It´s not like she couldn´t have someone constantly breathing down her neck, puh-leeze. Girl could have anyone she desires and we all know it. She knows it.

Besides, it´s not like she´s been entirely on her own when it comes to physical matters. There´s been flings and ONSs and perhaps she´s even tried to be exclusive with someone here and there - I wouldn´t call it "relationship" though. I can´t see Tanya Denali binding herself to just any mortal. She´d never put her family in harm´s way simply because she couldn´t keep her hands to herself-

...like someone else did.

(No, I do not consider Bella to be Edward´s mate. She is his singer, that´s different.)

As open-minded and free-spirited as the Denalis are, they´d never go against the laws of the Volturi. Tanya will make personally sure they won´t.

However, one can´t deny that this world could get quite...lonesome, especially when one has been living for as long as the sisters have. I don´t think Tanya would ever openly admit it, but she was lonely. She was yearning for something more than the occasional fling or ONS.

That´s how this whole thing with Edward started. He was a vampire, he was single, he was there. That´s all this was, imo. All of it combined seemed like the perfect match and seeing how our girl got people probably tripping over themselves to fulfill her every wish, surely this time wouldn´t be any different-

...Except, it was different. Eddy didn´t bite - that was a first. Something Tanya wasn´t used to, perhaps - hence why she was so hellbent on making things work between them. Our girl loves a good challenge.

(Human!Tanya in today´s day and age would be a total Daddy´s girl - used to getting her way and never been told "No". Yall can´t convince me otherwise.)

I´ve said it before: Tanya is a woman who will go after what she´s set her eyes on with everything she´s got. And what she´s set her eyes on wasn´t necessarily Edward himself, but rather what he represented - an end to her solitude.

Well, it didn´t work out in the end - obviously. But that craving for something more persisted. Enter-

"You", a husky voice almost breathed to your left, causing you to startle slightly before turning to take a look at the blonde wom-

...bombshell of a woman, who was currently staring at you like she´s never seen another human being in her life. Or perhaps you got something on your face.

In any case, that unblinking stare was quite unnerving.

"Uh...hey? Can I help you?" That came out a tad bit more aggressive than you intended but, in your defense, it´s been a long day.

You´ve only just had time to sit down and unwind after having packed up your whole life and shiped it here, to Alaska - your new home. Or, well, what you hoped would become your new home, in time. You´ve always struggled with adjusting to changes and this one was huge, but more than that: necessary. You wouldn´t have made it otherwise, of that you were certain.

So, here you were now - trying to enjoy some well-deserved me time in this little coffee shop you found when you were taking your first stroll through the quaint town of Fairbanks.

...Emphasis on trying, because that woman was still staring at you. She still hasn´t blinked yet. You don´t think any part of her has moved since she came to stand before you like a bearer of bad news. Honestly? You were starting to believe it. Something about this situation - about her - just felt off.

The exasperation that was steadily creeping up on you increased tenfold when some other blonde bimbo approaches, eyes laser-focused on your weird altercation, wearing a smile that showed way too much teeth-

Ugh.

'Can´t one enjoy their overpriced and incredibly stale coffee in peace? Goddammit-'

Off to a good start...

As for our proud coven leader?

Tanya had been suffering this...itch for the past couple of days. She hadn´t been able to make sense of it, hadn´t been able to figure out why she was experiencing it in the first place. All she could focus on was how utterly distracting it was, how much of a power it held over her - making her stumble through this town in search of its source. It was driving her mad.

That near magnetic pull seemed to have reached its peak today, the force of it almost bringing her down to her knees. Her eyes were wide open, but she wasn´t seeing. She pushed through the haze, body on autopilot, blindly following wherever instinct seemed to lead her. She was close - so close she could nearly taste it-

The jingling of a bell registered somewhere within her, sounding out rather dull though; nothing more than a background noise. She took in her surroundings - warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows, soft chatter and laughter floating through the air, the clinking of cups and the gentle hum of the espresso machine, the woman sitting on a bar chair across from her-

All of a sudden, the haze cleared and a wave of contentment washed over her. At the same time, everything around her seemed to fade until the only thing left to focus on was-

"You"

She entirely ceased to function for a hot second before remembering she was out in the open where she was supposed to human.

"Uh...hey? Can I help you?"

Right now, she couldn´t care less about what she was supposed to do.

She´s puffing up in an instant, like it´s instinct - absolutely ready to slay, to charm, to impress. She's Tanya Denali, for crying out loud. She will not be rendered useless by a human-

No matter how absolutely stunning that human is and how much she longs to be with that human from now on until the end of time because it's meant to be-

No.

Tanya Denali will not be rendered useless. She's the one who renders others useless. So that human woman, currently emitting an absolutely mouthwatering smell, had better get ready to be swept off her feet-

...Except, said human looked anything but. In fact, the woman looked quite unimpressed, just about done with stuff. Not that the vampiress minded much. She knew how wary humans could get in their presence. It happens almost unconsciously, like it´s instinct - a natural response when faced with an apex predator.

'A mere delay of what is to come. Of what is meant to be.'

Just as the coven leader prepared to flash a megawatt smile, which would surely seal the deal-

"Hey Tanyaaa! Who´s your friend?" She didn´t have to face her sister to know she was smiling like a cat that got the canary - she could hear it in her voice.

"Kate", she managed through gritted teeth. "Shouldn´t you be with Irina? Take care of those...shipments?"

'And quit being a massive pain in my a-'

"Nope", her sister replied bluntly. "It´s all taken care of. Carmen and Eleazar got back from their-"

Her sister´s eyes darted to her companion for a brief moment, much too swift to be perceived by the human eye.

"...Trip a lot earlier than expected. They were so kind to fill in for me, told me to go and check up on my dearest sister instead. Y´know, since the last few days have been quite-"

"Katrina", she whipped around to face her sister when it seemed like the spew of unnecessary information wasn´t going to stop anytime soon. Honestly-

"Don´t you have other things to do? Other places to be?" Her eyebrows raised so high it felt like they nearly met her hairline.

She loves her sister, but Kate has this irritating quality of showing herself when she really wasn´t needed nor wanted. It´s entirely on purpose, of course. Her younger sister does so love pushing buttons and testing limits, especially hers.

"...Nope."

Never before in her life had the urge to strangle her sister been this appealing. That cursed smirk-

"Oh...by the way sis-", her left eye was starting to twitch. "I´m not as well-versed as you are when it comes to canoodling with une madame, but I´m pretty sure that´s not how you do it." A pointed look was thrown over her shoulder, head nodding at the human woman still sitting-

...Who used to sit in front of her. She was right there just seconds ago!

'Nonononono-'

Her eyes frantically scanned the establishment, ears straining to detect that angelic voice, nose going crazy trying to catch a whiff of-

"WHERE IS SHE?!"

The little coffee shop went dead silent then, all eyes turned to her, looking at her like she´s completely lost it. Even her sister shot her a look that was free of mirth and mischief for once.

She had to get out of here.

She turned on her heel, blonde curls bouncing as she marched out of the shop, Kate not far behind. It took a mere few seconds until both of them were standing on the sidewalk in front of the facility, but it´s been the longest few seconds of her life.

The urge to break character, to drop this wretched human facade - if only for a moment - so she could-

"Tan...what´s going on?" Eyes roamed up and down her body, taking in her frenzied state. "What just happened in there?"

A hand slowly reached for her, hesitating for the briefest of moments before it came to rest on her shoulder. As if Kate didn´t wish to accidently spook her, as though her sister were dealing with a wild animal.

Honestly? She didn't quite understand, herself. Now that this woman was no longer in her vicinity, that god-awful itch returned. Only this time, it was made so much worse by that mouthwatering smell which seemed to linger in every facet of her being. It made her feel light-headed; she had great difficulty stringing together a coherent thought.

For the first time in over a millennium, she felt drunk.

It was addicting-

"...Tan? Tany-hey! Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Hands grabbed her before she could storm off again. She wasn´t sure where to, exactly. She moved on autopilot, led by a force greater than anything she´s faced in life.

"Will you please tell me what's going on? What's the matter? Is it that woman from before?" That got her listening. "Are you...are you mad at me or something?"

'Oh...'

...What?

Kate must´ve taken her confused silence as an affirmation. "Come on sis, don´t be like that. I´m sorry, okay? I´m sorry for thwarting your plans of getting into that woman´s pants. But Tan...there´s more where she came from. You´re gonna have your hands full in no time, I´m sure-"

The rational part of her recognized her sister was trying to cheer her up by being her usual impish self. Had she not been as preoccupied as she was in this moment, she might´ve even appreciated it.

However, the primal part of her that seemed to continuously gain the upper hand as time went on did not appreciate it. On the contrary - it roared and snapped its teeth at the implication she would make do with any other ever again-

"-emember? You were so furious at me because she´s had you in a limbo for weeks. I know you have a thing for prudes, but I still think I did you a favor. Some of them just aren´t worth the trouble, if you ask me. Why suffer blue balls when you can have any other-"

As Kate continued her dive into past affairs, she could feel something inside of her snapping.

"She´s NOT just any woman, Kate! So don´t you dare talk about her like she´s merely a way to pass time!" Her sister had the decency to look mildly guilty, at least. More than that though, she looked just as confused as Tanya felt.

"...Okay?" There was that look again. Like she´s lost it. She couldn´t blame her. None of them had ever experienced it...until now.

She ran a hand through her curls in exasperation. "Kate, I...I think...I-"

Gods, what was this woman doing to her?

Hands reached for her again, cradling her upper arms like she was made of porcelain. "Tanya...calm, it´s okay." Kate soothed. "I´d ask you to take a deep breath for me, but that´d kinda be in vain, don´t you think?"

Trust her sister to make light of just about any situation. It´s a trait she both curses and cherishes.

"Honestly though...what´s going on? You´re starting to scare me, sis."

Well-

'That makes two of us.'

Yes, this new development did scare her - immensely so. But at the same time, she´s never felt so overcome with purpose and meaning; like everything makes sense now.

In all of her undead existence, she´s never felt so alive.

She couldn´t explain it, even if she tried - one has to experience it to understand. If she had to put a name to it, however-

"Kate..." Her sister took note of her ever-growing smile with a mix of uncertainty and anticipation. Had it still been necessary for her to take a breath, she would have refused to release it in that moment. Tanya was sure of it.

"I think...I think I´ve found my mate."

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

A/N: Well, that kinda escalated. I´m glad it did though, lel.

[coffeeaddictandinsomniac]

There's the crisp sound of paper being flipped through. It echoes through the room loudly; it echoes through her ears loudly. The script has been handed out. Firefly barely made it past the first page before deciding she hated it.

The wad of paper in her hands is heavy, very nearly as thick as her arm, and very, very, combustible. Elio had handed out the script — just at the perfect moment when they were all in the same room, he does not call meetings and probably never will — to them just a moment ago. Everyone has flipped to the first page, everyone has seen what Firefly has seen.

The Stellaron is thrusted into [REDACTED] by Kafka — their memories lost with the power they gain from it.

That is the second scene that Elio has written out. There's no dialogue between the first and second — for Elio gives them that freedom, so long as it does not interfere with further scenes — just a sudden jump.

Firefly can't bear to look at the script anymore — so she looks up. She refuses to look at Elio, sitting there so plainly. Instead, she looks at them. They're still reading the script, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. From the looks of it they're still on the first page.

Firefly swallows a breath. She waits.

They flip the page without a word.

“No.” It tumbles from her mouth softly yet still feeling heavy on her tongue. No one's eyes are on the script anymore; all eyes are on her, and it occurs to her that Elio's eyes have always been on her. “We're not going to just sit here and say nothing about it are we?” Her words increase in volume until it hurts. “We lose them and we're not going to say anything?” Her shoulders shake and the script crumbles up in her grip. “We're just going to move on?”

“Thus is the way of the script.” Elio doesn't even blink as he says that. He sits as still as a statue.

(And she hates that she knows that. That that is the truth of things. That everything will happen whether she likes it or not.)

The script falls from her hands, landing on the ground with a loud thud. “Then I want nothing to do with it!”

“Firefly-” Kafka starts, her voice sweet and soft.

Firefly turns on her heel, feet stomping away loudly without another word.

The door to the room she shares with them is a welcomed sight — their bed even more so. She collapses onto it unceremoniously, her cheek hitting the pillow. Hot, burning tears roll down from her eyes to the pillow — they're silent but they still leave stains. She curls into herself, pulling her legs up to her chest.

She's not too sure how long it's been before the door opens once again, casting light inside of the dark room. Save for a shadow of a body — their body, she knows — that slowly shrinks until it merges with the darkness after the door closes.

“How long?” She doesn't move from her position on the bed when she speaks — she doesn't even turn to look at them. “How long do I have until I lose you too?”

They climb onto the bed and it dips under their weight. They shimmy up until Firefly can make out their face in the darkness, golden eyes clearly staring at her. Their arm reaches up, tracing a pattern on her shoulder. “Tomorrow.” From the tone of their voice, Firefly knows they're frowning. “I'm sorry.”

“It's not fair,” she bites out through her tears — starting up once again from that fact after having gone dry.

“I know,” they say. A strand of hair is tucked back behind her ear. “I'm sorry.” Because just like she does, they know that nothing they can do can change this. “You'll see me again. The script says so.”

Her shoulders shake. Their arms wrap around her, pulling her close enough so she can cry into their chest instead of the pillow. “You won't remember me.” Her own arms — slightly asleep from lying on them herself — reach up, wrapping themselves around their torso. Their warmth is welcoming.

“Then,” they start, dragging the word out like they usually do when they're still thinking, “you'll just have to make me fall in love with you all over again. You managed it just fine the first time.”

There's a thousand thoughts running through her head. Because would it even really be them when she meets them again? They won't remember the experiences that make them who they are today; they won't remember the experiences they've shared together to get the two of them to this point.

She doesn't say any of them. Instead, she just says, “Hold me?”

They tighten their hold around her, just like they always do. “Of course.”

She falls asleep in their arms.

Firefly wakes up to the other side of the bed empty, dry tear tracks on her cheeks getting watered once more.

[johnslittlespoon]

Losing my mind over the “such a good little pup, aren’t you?” smut dialogue BUT- with CurtBuck >:)

Also “one more! Please!” from Curt bc I love a good needy Curt soooo much (and I can’t get over what you said the other day about Curt being whiny and needy compared to John’s feral and growly)

post life affirming sex, they all made it back from Algeria and John’s passed tf out from their previous fucking already and Curt’s so tired and already fucked out but he still has this current of energy running under his skin that he can’t help but squirm around until Gale questions him and he just lets out the sweetest little noise before begging and whining into Gale’s neck and Gale just manhandles Curt around so he can slide into him again, shushing him softly when he whimpers from the overstim of being fucked again but he needs it so bad

Anyway I’m actually insane and I desperately needed to entertain some CurtBuck thoughts soooo bad I just love the chemistry of those two together. John may be his partner in crime, but Gale is the steadying and grounding balance he needs too

- @mangokittokatsu

prompts | omg i'm so excited, i haven't written curtbuck outside of the throuple yet but i love them and they are so underrated, i'm so keen to explore their dynamic more <3 thank you for giving me an excuse to!! ~1k words of nsfw drabble below >:) edit: turned this into a full oneshot and posted it to ao3 :-)

Curt shifts on the sex–ruffled, sweat–damp bed sheets, heart rate slowly returning to a normal pace but still antsy from the buzz rippling up and down his spine, rumbling uncomfortably just below the surface of his skin.

John’s snoring quietly behind him, one long leg tangled with Curt’s, always finding a way to stay connected even in rest. Gale’s still awake, fingers combing through his hair in a way that only serves to stoke the flames lapping at his insides rather than settle them down to warm embers the way the gentle touch usually does.

Curt turns his face further into the gap between him and Gale, pressing his forehead against his warm chest, pulling himself closer with the arm draped over Gale’s waist and crowding into his space. He’s so tired that it feels like a herculean effort just to bridge the few inches, and yet he can’t help but squirm when Gale’s other hand flattens itself against his back, his palm feeling like a branding iron against his too–hot, too–restless body.

He presses his hips forward, raising his chin enough to mouth at the base of Gale’s neck, tasting the salt of summer heat that’s gathered there, whining quietly. The rumble against his lips when Gale chuckles low in his throat has his hips twitching, fingertips pressing into Gale’s back.

“What’s wrong, doll?” The gravelly voice does nothing to aid the frenzied feeling creeping beneath his skin, and he nips at Gale in retaliation, rocking forward into a firm thigh again when the hand in his hair tightens ever so slightly.

“Need more,” Curt huffs out a breath when Gale pulls his head back so he can get a good look at him, eyes bleary as he watches the corner of Gale’s mouth twitch with amusement and something akin to hunger.

“You can barely keep your eyes open, baby,” he coos, on the verge of teasing, and a whimper slips out before Curt can stop it.

“Just one more,” he breathes out, eyelashes fluttering as he rolls his hips, pretty certain that he can get himself off on Gale’s thigh if he keeps holding his hair tight like that. “Please, Gale.”

That’s enough to get Gale to move, always weak to his begging, hand firm on his hip as he rolls him over and pulls his back flush against his chest like it’s effortless. It makes Curt’s head spin, mumbling a dazed “fuck” as Gale manhandles him how he wants him, his eyes falling on John’s sleeping form.

“What a needy thing,” Gale hums next to his ear, fingers pressing into Curt’s mouth, and Curt dutifully wets them with a moan, though he’s not sure he could’ve stopped himself from drooling had he tried. Gale pulls his fingers out and reaches between them, taking himself into his hand, slicking himself back up before dragging the head of his cock in a teasing up and down over his hole, and Curt trembles, fingers twisting in the bed sheets.

“Please,” he whines again, pushing his hips back, and Gale takes pity on him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before sliding back into where he’d filled Curt up no more than twenty minutes prior. Curt eyes snap shut, head tilting back, mouth falling open in a choked out cry, verging on the edge of too–sensitive but simultaneously feeling the restlessness be smothered.

Gale hushes him softly, moving his hand to flatten over Curt’s stomach as he pulls him close enough that he’s really only gently rocking his hips into him, a painfully slow back and forth of his cock, but so good and so full, pressing right up against where Curt’s still aching for it even after taking both of them until he had been shaking.

“Oh,” Curt sighs out, clenching around Gale’s cock and feeling his hips stutter forward into him, shuddering at the groan he receives. 

“This what you needed, baby?” Gale grazes his teeth just below his jaw, and Curt nods desperately, rocking back against him, whimpering. The hand on his stomach presses down, and hot tears jump to the corners of his eyes at the sharp–sweet pleasure the added pressure grants him, feeling each drag inside him so much more intensely.

“Gale,” he gasps, writhing against the warm body behind him, hands tightening in the sheets.

“Such a good little pup, aren’t you?” Gale murmurs against his neck, and that’s enough for Curt to reach down and take his own cock into his hand, hissing at the sensitivity but needing the friction so bad that he fights through it, feeling the pillow dampen against the side of his face as tears finally leak out.

Gale pulls back a little more to drive in harder each time, still keeping his movements slow and deep, making sure it’s not too much for him, lips soft where he mouths at the crook of his neck. He rumbles against Curt’s skin, chasing gentle nips with the press of his tongue and light enough suction to not leave lasting marks, panting quiet encouragement and praise when his thrusts start to get messy.

He feels Gale nudge at his hand, knocking it out of the way and replacing it with his own, and Curt moans at the way the heat engulfs him, rocking his hips up into Gale’s hand and back against his cock, over and over as the honey–hot feeling in his stomach builds. It doesn’t take long before all his muscles are tensing, burying his face in the pillow to muffle his strangled sob, shaking hard as he jerks between Gale’s hand and body, making a mess over his knuckles.

Curt nearly convulses when Gale pushes in deep and goes still, spilling into him once again, filling him with a heat that feels like it oozes through his entire body, melting his bones down to nothing and turning his brain to mush as he chants desperate whimpers of Gale’s name into the pillow.

Fresh tears well up from the almost painful friction when he slides out of him a minute later, and he whines in complaint, but Gale leans over him and kisses him better, slow and soft with a hand cupping his face to help him tilt it to the side.

“You’re unreal,” Gale murmurs against his lips, and Curt still flushes, even after everything else.

(+ Curt wakes up in the morning to John working him open on his fingers because they all can’t get enough of each other as is, let alone after the scare that was Algeria, and he’s sore and tired but god does he ever need to be full of him again, so they take it slow and gentle and Gale wakes up to the sight of Curt absolutely enveloped by John’s broad body, and fuck, there they all go again.) (p.s. @mangokittokatsu i'm gonna be so real, i only have to see your @ to know i'm about to be knocked back in my chair by whatever words you decide to grace my inbox with LMAOO i hope this is a solid thanks for all the brainrot you share <3)

[sasanka-27]

It’s real

| Fandom: supernatural | Pairing: Dean/Castiel | Words: 7k+

| Type: oneshot | Rating: Teen and up | Author: Sasanka27

Summary: Morning of his birthday Dean wakes up alone doubting if he hadn’t dream the good parts of his life.

Link:

[crabsnpersimmons]

I have a question.

What would your CLIP AU voice be like?

probably the voice of your Sun and Moon hairdresser AU is exactly like that of the original daycare attendant sun and moon.

but what about Clip? it's a thin and lovely voice?, or calm and gentle like in the original Eclipse?

Or Is the voice different?

good question! and a tricky one, because i don't have any exact references to pull from and i don't know how much will translate, but i will try to explain the best i can

First: in the hairdresser AU, Sun and Moon actually sound a little different from canon! It's been a long time since their time at their PizzaPlex and they've undergone a lot of change, and that shows in their voices. So they used to sound like their canon voices, but they've changed over time.

Sun's voice is gentler than his canonical voice and it doesn't fluctuate as much (switching from excitable, to sarcastic, to threatening). Overtime, Sun has learned to keep his tone even and approachable. The best way to describe Sun is that he is even-tempered and calm. He rarely gets over-emotional, but Moon and Clip have a way of getting to him, since they know each other the closest. He only ever slips into his old voice and vocal habits (like repeating words) around Moon and Clip, usually in the form of sarcasm to balance their silliness (like his comments in this post). i like to describe Sun's voice as his customer-service voice, light and cheery enough to be appropriate for the situation.

Moon's voice is still a little raspy, but unlike his canon voice, it's less guttural and his pitch doesn't fluctuate as much. He also speaks in full sentences haha. The notable thing about Moon's voice is that it lacks the playful gremlin quality we all love about canon Moon. His tone isn't as playful and he doesn't giggle as much as he used to. Perhaps he'll have a short friendly chuckle when talking to a customer, but it's not gremlin level laughter. i think the closest voice reference i can think of is Corey Wilder's voice dub for Moon. still a little raspy without being too guttural, and more eloquent and charming in his delivery. Overall his tone is kinda dry, but when he begins to open up (like in this post), his voice takes a softer tone, closer to canon.

and finally Clip! In a way, his voice is probably the closest to canon Sun and Moon's. His voice fluctuates a lot jumping around from canon Sun's lofty theatrics to canon Moon's menacing glee. He's dramatic, he's silly, he cackles, he giggles, he rambles, he growls, he makes animal noises, he's all over the place! And there is no rhyme or reason to it, it's just fun for Clip. No matter the time of day, Clip is here to play play play! However, there are rare moments when his voice sounds like canon Eclipse from the Ruin DLC. It's that sweet and gentle tone, but there is a staticky quality in his voice, crackling like someone who hasn't spoken in a while.

...

i hope that made sense!