#otp: everything i ask for

[malinaa]

if i think about the hunger games in peeta's perspective i WILL start sobbing

[uldren-sov]

the reality (not the expectation) of what it's like sleeping with Seven Lawless. - Camy Rose ~dated five years ago~

Comm'd the amazing and talented @aevari tysm bestie!! Of yet another meme of my OC Camy and @infamous-if 's most divisive clingy sleeper Seven Lawless

Blank version under the cut!

[youngpettyqueen]

do you ever think about Garak waking up and seeing Julian in that chair, uncomfortably crammed in and slumped over asleep, and wonder how he must've felt when he realized Julian wasn't going to leave

[dipplinduo]

I've created something absolutely show-stopping that I've desperately wanted for a very long time all thanks to @angelabsol's mentorship. Ladies, gentlemen, & folks, may I present:

[thelastwarriornun]

24 for avatrice?

Bang. Bang.

Beatrice’s ears ring with it in the absence of Ava’s shouting, or the shrill clicks and shrieks of the clicker. Beatrice’s breaths are a loud rasping thing, only  interrupted by the rhythmic wet tap, whether from the recently deceased clicker, or her own injuries Beatrice isn't sure. 

It comes back in fragments. Ava, patrol, the creek trails, all very routine. Nothing Beatrice would consider even a challenge. They’d found broken glass, and a fresh trail of blood leading them into a local minimart. Unusual certainly, but they were experienced with this. The building was old, rot having set in from all the moisture, another commonality. 

All very routine, until the floor had given way, wood shrieking and splitting as it collapsed, taking Ava with it. A gaping hole left in its stead. Beatrice remembers shouting, dropping onto her stomach with an outstretched hand as if she could undo the damage. She remembers sliding through the fractured wood, and dropping despite the height ignoring the ache in her knees. 

It wasn’t until Beatrice had landed, taking in the dark room around her, that she heard it. The telltale clicks and shrieks of a clicker. Beatrice's hand barely finds her holster before it’s there just two feet from Ava, Ava who’s groans come with tightly closed eyes, still reeling from the world falling out from under her.

It was too close. Too close to take a shot without putting Ava at risk. Too close to do anything except shield Ava from the fevered snap of jaws. It was an easy choice to make. It was the only choice. It doesn’t make it any less painful, Beatrice throwing herself into the shambling form, as teeth tear and rip through her shoulder, taking flesh and fabric indiscriminately.  Well this will be much harder to cover up with a chemical burn. 

Beatrice somehow manages to find her pistol, pressing the barrel against the clicker's head. Well head was probably overly generous, whatever once resembled a skull had given way now to the fungus blooming into something bright orange and ovular shaped. Beatrice fires twice, two shots in quick succession that spray blood and flecks of fungus against the ceiling. They fall together, and the clicker makes for a terrible cushion, smelling of rot, and full of varying lumps, manifestations of the infection. 

So Beatrice finds herself rolling off the infected, a groan on her lips as her back collides with cold tile, ears ringing. “Fuck.” It felt like an appropriate time for cursing.

“Beatrice.” Ava’s voice is faint, confused, likely still regaining her senses.  

Beatrice finds that pushing herself upright is a losing game, her right hand useless between the painful ache in her muscles, and the slick sticky puddle of blood now coating the tile. Right then, laying will have to do.  

“Beatrice!” More urgent now, and hands are on her. They’re gentle, as they pull Beatrice up, propping her against a nearby wall as Ava tries to fix something that can’t be mended. “This isn’t– it can't be– it’s from falling right? It didn’t bite you?” 

Beatrice laughs, a wet sound, ignoring the waves of pain that echo from her shoulder. Even she can see the distinct rows of teeth now memorialized in the cut of her shoulder. “Ava listen to me.” 

“Shut the fuck up Beatrice. Just give me a second to think.” Ava tears her flannel open, buttons scattering across the floor as Ava turns it into a bandage.

“That was one of my favorites.” Beatrice’s complaint is quiet, but Ava scowls all the same, tying the fabric in a tight knot against the open flesh, as Beatrice grits her teeth. 

“Now you want to be funny. You’ve barely said a word to me this entire patrol. But now you can’t seem to shut up.” Ava’s tone is harsh but her hands are gentle as they grip onto the front of Beatrice’s t-shirt. “That should slow the bleeding. Maybe I can buy us some time. They won’t come looking for a few hours–” 

“Ava stop.” Beatrice manages to catch Ava’s hands, hates the way they threaten to slip away between her own red stained fingers. Still Beatrice holds fast, and really this would be so much easier if the edges of her vision would stop blurring. “I have to tell you something, and I need you to promise me you won’t speak until I’ve finished.” 

“Beatrice there isn’t time.” Ava protests, and Beatrice can see it’s a losing battle, understands it really. Even now Beatrice finds herself caught between this moment, and a dream, a time when Beatrice’s curses were interrupted with inappropriate laughter, and the rising swell of grief. We’ll lose our minds together. 

It was so many years ago, and yet here Beatrice was. Once again watching love turn someone to insanity. Except this time Beatrice can stop it, can quell the rising tide, be the stormbreak she couldn’t before. 

Beatrice’s good hand slides along the curve of Ava’s arm, finding its way to the knape of her neck. It catches there, fingers tangling in the hairs that have escaped Ava’s ponytail. It seems silly now, their fight earlier, thinly veiled jealousy rearing its ugly head in both of them, Ava jealous over a girl Beatrice hadn’t spoken to in weeks. Beatrice, already steeling herself for the next time Ava makes up with Michael. They’ve been doing this dance for years, too afraid to speak plainly lest it ruin this. 

“Bea.” It escapes in a sob, Ava’s breath warm against Beatrice’s cheek. 

Fingers press against the knape of Ava’s neck, and Beatrice closes her eyes, unwilling to see the rejection she might find, or even worse, a reflection of herself all those years ago. Ava’s lips are soft, gentle, as if Ava’s worried she might break her. But Beatrice has spent years damming her own want and desire, and the soft press of Ava’s lips is enough to send the whole of it crashing down. Beatrice’s fingers are no longer gentle, as she surges forward, as much as the press of Ava’s body will allow, nipping at Ava’s bottom lip. 

Beatrice swallows a gasp against her lips, as Ava’s palms press flat against her chest, as if torn between returning the kiss, or pushing her away. Beatrice retreats, opening her eyes, expecting to find rejection. Instead Ava is afire, eyes wide, stuck somewhere between desire and grief, the two twisting together until Beatrice can hardly read the difference. Beatrice doesn’t make it far, only softens the press of her fingers against Ava’s neck when the tension of indecision seems to snap, and it’s Ava this time who closes the gap, molding their lips together. 

Beatrice's head bumps painfully against the wall, but she’d do it a hundred more times to keep Ava’s lips against her own. Ava’s hands cup along each side of her face, thumbs brushing along her jaw. And fuck immunity, fuck dying, because Beatrice is sure that there’s nothing she wants more than to fade into oblivion like this, with the press of Ava’s lips against her own, and the thud of her own heartbeat filling her ears. 

Ava’s hand slips down along her neck, and Beatrice hisses from between clenched teeth at the sharp wave of pain that rolls through her. But Beatrice doesn’t want to lose this, the starstruck look in Ava’s eyes, or the clench of her hands in Beatrice’s tattered shirt. So Beatrice smirks,” if I’d have known that would shut you up I would’ve tried that years ago.” 

“You should’ve.” Ava doesn't miss a beat. 

“Who’s being funny now?” Beatrice pauses sucking in a breath. The weight of years of secrecy, of hiding was a tough vow to break. Especially when so many people had paid the cost to keep it so. 

“I don’t want you to die.” Ava’s voice is soft, tears glistening even in the dim light of the basement, and Beatrice hears it again, an echo of the past, I cannot watch you die. We’ll go together then. 

“I’m not going to turn Ava.” Beatrice flips her arm displaying the fully healed tattoo on her arm, biting back a laugh when Ava scowls. 

“Really? You want to show off your stupid tattoo now?” 

“Not the tattoo, the burn. I’m immune, Ava.” It falls flat, and Beatrice presses a hand to Ava’s cheek forcing her to look at her before she can withdraw much. “I’m serious Ava. The only people who know are Mary, Shannon, and Suzanne. I was bit back in the QZ, that’s how I met Shannon and Mary. It was a long time ago, they were worried how people might react so that’s how I got the chemical burn. I’m going to be fine.” 

It’s not much, a flicker of something, hope, in the softening lines of Ava’s face. “Swear to me.” 

Beatrice doesn’t look away, simply brushes her thumb across the remaining trail of moisture along Ava’s cheek. “I swear. Assuming we make it out of this, I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay then.” Ava glances around, frowning slightly as she straightens up, as if just now recognizing the gravity of the situation. Ava extends an arm to Beatrice, who takes it with a grimace allowing herself to be pulled upright. “Don’t think bleeding out will stop you from having to talk about that kiss.” 

Beatrice laughs, ignoring the way the world seems to tilt beneath her as they look for an exit. Because of course Ava would take this in stride, and god Beatrice would do it again, throw herself into the jaws of a monster if it meant spending just another day with her. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[cocoabubbelle-newblog]

Hello…again.

This is Cocoa Bubbelle, for anyone who may recognize this blog below:

If anyone has been wondering where I have been, I will keep this brief:

For some reason, the email I’ve always used for this app became invalid, making it impossible for me to sign back into my original account. Despite messaging Tumblr and going through the proper steps to attempt to regain access, it was determined for prevention of potential risk that my request for help was denied.

Rather than waste time being frustrated over now no longer having access to content I created, liked, drafted up, and reblogged for about 2 years and developing connections with those of you who followed me (thanks so much, btw!), I am going to attempt to start anew.

I will reblog as much of my original content as I can for those of you that found me through them.

I will also try to make my blog more coherent and organized now that I have a slightly better understanding of how Tumblr works.

It will definitely take time for me to rebuild this blog again, but I will make sure it is worth it!

(Warning: will involve a little bit of reblogging, a little bit of reposting, and a whole lot of shenanigans)

Again, thank you all who have followed, liked, and reblogged my content!

I have no idea how I can reach out to and reconnect with you all again, and I am truly sorry if the last post I have ever made will be the last you will have heard of me. I sadly am not able to recover all notifications and information of who follows me to alert of my new situation.

For anyone who does manage to find me, feel free to reblog this post to anyone who might be interested or you know do follow!

PS. Bonus Scogue pic I was working on before I got kicked out!

@withjust-a-bite @xlander @marvelshipper @nervouscolordeputypeach @flareonfury @therogue704 @light-miracles ( + everyone else I have not directly mentioned I promise it’s not bc I appreciate you less! I just currently do not have the mental capacity to find you all 😭) I will singlehandedly message my original posts if it is the last thing I do so my presence may be revived and that you can find me again mwahahaha)

[leslieseveride]

NOW I'M IN HYSTERICS BECAUSE I THOUGHT LUCY WAS JUST AFFECTIONATELY TOUCHING TIM'S CHEEK BUT REALLY SHE'S REACHING UP TO TOUCH THE TIPS OF HER FINGERS TO THE ITTY BITTY CUT JUST ABOVE HIS EYEBROW WHILE THINKING TO HERSELF HOW GRATEFUL SHE IS THAT HE'S HERE DANCING WITH HER AT NOLAN AND BAILEY'S WEDDING. OH I'M A MESS, OOHOHOHOHOHO I'M A MESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[thekingofthenameless]

Tell me your top 3 OCs

Thanks for the ask!!! :D

My top two are definitely Merlin and Charlie!

(I have other ocs of course, but I have no thoughts about them rn because I’m writing a oneshot specifically centered around these two, so I’m just gonna talk about their bond for the third lmao.)

1. Merlin:

Merlin (full name Merlin Caledonensis Ambrosius) is a Black transgender aroace man! (Specially non-partnering, as well as being romance and sex repulsed.) He’s also neurodivergent: he has schizophrenia, psychosis (as a symptom of it), misophonia, and Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

He has a carefully crafted image of himself that he’s made as a way to survive, and no one besides Charlie, Ganieda, or Vivian will know his true self.

He hides it all under being a very mellow person.

He’ll smile easily, make shitty puns, converse with most people he comes across, give advice and trade knowledge freely without there being any catch, unlike some others out there.

Many consider him a friend, one of the most renowned protectors of magic, and one of the most famous magical beings, that everyone at least knows the name of. (Despite the demons that apparently have plagued his mind for centuries.)

But both he and his dragon are shrouded in myths and legends that no one knows are true or not, and he’ll never confirm or deny, simply dodging the curiosity or asking about the questioner with a smile.

(Unless it’s about being secretly married, because then he’ll go on a disgusted rant about being thrust into romance, and how he’s never been in a relationship, and he doesn’t need it, he has Charlie and his sister and his friends.)

His secrecy isn’t just limited to his past; it’s to the point that he feels exposed if someone simply finds out something he likes.

He usually doesn’t think about the fact that he’s constantly hiding parts of himself to make him seem more palatable, but when he does, he resents it. (And understands, because he’s hard to deal with. He has no idea why Charlie still loves him, sometimes.)

Just a few of the secrets he holds close to his chest are being naturally left-handed, hiding it behind the mask of ambidexterity that he taught himself. His complete and utter lack of romantic or sexual attraction, to the point of being repulsed at the idea. His aversion to a frankly maddening amount of sounds, and being born a girl, who hadn’t wanted to change his reproductive organs because they didn’t make him feel distressed and not at home in his own body like his breasts.

The voices in his mind tell him that everyone knows, no matter how hard he’s tried to hide them, and that they’ll hurt him again; Charlie has to constantly reassure him that no one else knows besides the two of them. (But not that he’d never betray him by revealing them. He’ll always trust his familiar, and Charlie knows that.)

Art Dump! (And an excerpt of his appearance from another character’s point of view because I’m lazy lol)

Click on the pictures for better quality and to see the whole thing! (The old one is his first, older design; the second one is his current one.)

[Amos] tries not to stare, taking in his appearance nonetheless. The man who is apparently Merlin seems to be only a couple of inches shorter than him, even from where he’s standing. Long white hair, that shines like freshly fallen snow, rests halfway down his back. It’s locked into thick strands that remind him of strong rope, tied up into a mid-high ponytail. Every side of his head is shaved, showing softer but still coarse hair that glimmers like frost. “Merlin,” Uther calls. “I have someone for you to meet.” He turns, revealing his face. He’s beautiful. He’s Black; his skin is a warm, dark brown. Several scars (one on the left side of his forehead, above his eyebrow; another spanning from his forehead to his nose, ending a little below his eyes; and the last across his left cheek) darker than his skin adorn his face. His eyebrows, eyelashes, and beard (which has a coarse, curly texture) are as white as his hair. His almond shaped eyes are a lighter shade of blue, with orange rings around his pupils. Eyebags darker than his skin, but a different shade than his scars, are under them. The bridge of his nose is prominent, making it curve. An aquiline nose, if he remembers correctly. He hasn’t seen anyone who has it in a while. He’s wearing a dark green bliaut, (that shows some of his chest, and he has to quickly look away) brown pants, a long, hooded blue cape, and brown heeled boots. A necklace, which is only a gem held with black string, rests against his neck. A bracelet is on his right wrist, and a ring is on his right hand’s second finger.

2. Charlie:

Charlie (full name Charlemagne William Ambrosius) seems a little rougher around the edges than his wizard, but he’s still nice (once he gets to know someone).

If he doesn’t know them yet, he won’t hide the fact that he stares them down while gauging their character. And even if he does, if they aren’t Ganieda or Vivian, he’ll still give them the same stare if they say or do something that could register as a possible threat to his beloved. (Yes, he calls Merlin that now. You’re welcome.)

He’ll say the things that Merlin thinks but won’t say, and doesn’t care that he comes off as mean or blunt sometimes either.

No one else’s opinion matters as long as Merlin is safe.

Anyone trying to separate the two of them, no matter for how long, immediately comes off as suspicious to him. People have attempted to take advantage of his familiar’s illness in the past, by convincing him that their actions weren’t real and were things he hallucinated or imagined. Sometimes, they also do the opposite and make him remember things that never happened.

And there’s the separation that still haunts both of them in different ways.

He’d been out hunting (which takes hours, since he’s a 3,000 pound dragon that eats a lot, but at least he only needs to eat every 4-5 days) leaving Merlin behind with their mutual acquaintance, Mordecai. His familiar had been feeling slightly tired, but neither of them were too worried; he’d hopefully sleep it off.

When he returned, Merlin was gone.

After hours of frantically trying to contact him through their telepathic bond multiple times while tracking his scent, he found a monastery.

His companion’s scent led him down to a dungeon, which had a chair with blood at its feet. And it continued in a trail somewhere else.

He had to quell his rising terror and fury to focus on finding him, following the blood and still strong scent upstairs.

Finally, he’d found the door that Merlin seemed to be behind, and he entered quietly when he only heard silence.

Even after seeing the blood, he still wasn’t expecting Merlin on a bed, sheets under him bloodied and stained, two corpses on the floor.

He was curled into himself, staring off at nothing.

They’d tortured him, broken him.

He never wants to see his beloved look that like again.

Art dump and excerpt:

(Like Merlin, the old one is his first, older design; the second one is his current one.)

(Charlemagne stares at [Uther] the whole time, red eyes almost glowing in the dim light.) How is no one else unnerved by him? He’s entirely unsettling, with those red eyes, (at least they have white sclera; that helps with making him look slightly less monstrous) giant, feathered wings colored like lava, and thick-furred body colored like soil and fire. (What kind of dragon has fur and feathers, anyways?) Besides that, the mark of being a familiar adorns his leg, for lack of a better word, unable to be hidden.

Their bond:

(To help with some things, cambions and dragons both age extremely slowly! Cambions age one year in every five years; dragons age one year in every fifty-five years.)

Yes, I did math for this lmao.

(Dragons also turn fully adult at five years old [two hundred seventy-five chronologically]. At a year old [fifty-five], they’re still too small to open their eyes. Five years later [60], they’ve opened, but their teeth haven’t grown in yet. Ten years later [70], they’re able to be weaned off milk. At two years old [110], they’re able to speak. From there, the main changes are their bodies slowly changing into adulthood.)

Merlin and Charlie have been familiars for a long time: over 4,000 years. (I don’t have an exact year yet. 😓) The two of them have been best friends, and inseparable for most of their lives.

Merlin, pre-transition, as a thirteen year old (chronologically 65) on the cusp of puberty, found him abandoned by his parents in the woods. They didn’t think he’d survive for much longer; the only reason he wasn’t classified as a runt was because mammalian dragons only have one offspring at a time.

At a year old (chronologically 55), he was too small to even open his eyes, but he could hear. Merlin’s hands gently ran over his fur, murmuring soothing words, getting him used to the feeling, voice and scent of human, before he gently cradled him in his arms and took him home. The little kit would be eaten by anything opportunistic enough if he didn’t.

Adhan was used to her son’s empathetic nature, but she never expected him to bring home a dragon.

Eventually, she was convinced, though.

Merlin fed him cow’s milk from a wooden bowl, hoping that he would able to digest it. (He was, fortunately.)

He looked down at the kit, colored like soil and fire, and lava all in one, and decided to name him Charlemagne William. He wasn’t going to give him his last name just yet.

Merlin always knew he was more intelligent than an average animal, no matter what anyone else thought, and talked to him as though he was human even back then.

Soon, it became commonplace to see the two of them together, Merlin either holding the little dragon in his arms, or carrying him in the blanket that he wrapped around himself.

Charlie became more affectionate as well, always curling against his side or on his chest.

By the next five years, when Merlin aged into fourteen, there was no concept of the two ever separating, but there was confusion when Charlie stayed the same size and age. (He’d opened his eyes only recently, and his teeth weren’t coming in; he couldn’t eat solid food as a result.)

Amidst Merlin’s worry over his dragon not seeming to grow, puberty slammed into him.

And he didn’t feel like a girl. It wasn’t his clothes; he’d always loved outfits that go down to his knees or farther. It was his body.

He felt too feminine, felt like he was all blossoming curves and soft features. He hated seeing his breasts grow, and he began to bind them, hiding the fact from everyone; fortunately, his healing factor helped offset any negative effects, and everyone was focused on getting Ganieda and Vivian together, anyways.

(Ugh, romance.)

But what he would be if he wasn’t a girl? A man? (Yes, is his answer, deep down.) That was ludicrous.

This would pass.

(It did not pass.)

At night, when everything was quiet, he vented to his dragon about everything, gently cradling him in his arms. How he didn’t feel like a girl and didn’t feel at home in his body. How certain sounds set him off, and people thought he would outgrow it, but he wasn’t, and how he was terrified of telling his family these things. He had to be a good daughter.

(Charlie would nuzzle him, understanding every word, purring as loudly as he could to comfort his beloved wizard.)

Charlie finally started growing more teeth when Merlin was sixteen, chronologically eighty years and six months then. He slowly weaned his dragon, introducing him to different types of meats and other foods. Apparently, they’re omnivorous, but it’s usually easier to just eat meat instead because of their size.

Despite the relief at the fact that his dragon just aged very slowly, his body dysphoria refused to leave. He knew that it wasn’t normal to hate looking at yourself in the mirror, and hate becoming a woman. (Especially since Ganieda accepted it, and loved it, happy to grow older so she and Vivian could marry sooner.)

Sometimes, when he was sure that everyone was asleep, he’d shapeshift into a man under the moonlight streaming through his window. He’d stare at himself, reverently running his hands over his face, quietly walking around his room in the body he so desperately wanted.

But he pushed it down, keeping it a guilty secret. Womanhood was still important to him; he had to be a good daughter, a good sister, and he loved them too much to just leave. But how would they react, if he did tell them?

(Charlie always treated him with the same love, man or woman, affectionately nuzzling him and purring. His eyes held an understanding that he wished everyone else would have.)

Maybe… he could broach the topic with his mother.

He did, eventually, and she gently stroked his steadily growing locs as he curled against her, speaking in nothing louder than a whisper the whole time. (Charlie rested against his feet, quietly watching them both. Adhan easily believed her son about his intelligence, now.)

She didn’t have any advice, in the end. But she kissed his forehead and told him that she’d always love him, no matter what. And if she did end up having a son, then she’d be blessed with the most amazing one she could have.

Twenty-five years later, at twenty-one (one hundred five years old), he shapeshifted into a man again, this time using his magic to make this form his true one. He cried when he was finally able to have the body he’d wanted for so long permanently.

Charlie wrapped around his legs, nuzzling him, and he picked him up, holding his dragon close. He purred loudly, sweet and comforting, even as Merlin’s tears soaked his fur.

Another seventeen years later, when Merlin was twenty-four (one hundred twenty-two), and Charlie was two (one hundred ten); Merlin was reading by the fire, and Charlie was curled against his right side.

Charlie looked up at his wizard adoringly, letting out soft purrs. He wanted to speak, talk to him just as much, and thank him for everything he’s done.

Merlin’s hand reached down to gently scratch his head, and he leaned into the contact, wishing he could speak even more.

Maybe… he could try.

“Merlin?” He said quietly, doing his best to not wriggle in excitement so the surprise wasn’t spoiled.

His wizard looked up at the unfamiliar voice, brow furrowing in confusion. After searching the room, his gaze went back down to him. “Charlie, did you hear that?”

“Yes,” was his simple answer.

Merlin’s mouth dropped open, eyes widening in shock. “What- You just talked.”

He smiled proudly, tail thumping as his wizard’s brain broke. “You can talk.”

After the subsequent reveal, and excitement had died down, they had long conversations that lasted for hours. At the end of it, their bond had only strengthened, and now, they knew things about each other that no one else ever would.

Twenty-three more years later, when Merlin was twenty-nine (one hundred forty-five), his schizophrenia began to set in.

He began to hear people calling his name when they hadn’t; began seeing things out of the corner of his eyes, with nothing being there when he turned around, confused. His food began to taste terrible when he knew it was the same as everyone else’s, and he became terrified of it being poisoned.

Then the voices and delusions started.

They started out positive, but over time they began to tell him crueler things.

His delusions told him that someone has invaded their home and is walking around (he can hear their footsteps), bugs were crawling on his hands in the dark until he turned a light on, or touched Charlie so his glowing spread to his hands.

And they happened over, and over, and over again, but every time it was real until he came out of it and remembered that they aren’t.

At least they usually didn’t last for that long.

But his hallucinations started getting worse, and instead of just hearing nonexistent voices, people and creatures appeared.

Sometimes it made absolute sense that a stranger was in their house. And they weren’t a threat, simply doing things that made him inquire why they were there.

Charlie, who was up to his knees now, was determined to help his wizard.

He suggested putting bells on the door so Merlin can think back and remember if they rang or not before he panics about a stranger being in their house. (It isn’t foolproof, but it does help.)

When the gaps in Merlin’s memory began to get worse, it didn’t matter. He’d remember for him. He’d eat some of his food first so that he knew that it wasn’t poisoned. He’d stay awake when he was afraid of falling asleep.

Merlin took care of him first. It was his turn.

After they fought in battles, and Merlin’s sensitivity to loud noises increased, along with new trauma, his stance didn’t change.

He’d breathe on him instead of calling his name so he doesn’t get as startled, and he’d walk across a room (in the rare occasion of that) instead of yelling for him. He’d do his absolute best to not yell at someone making him angry, no matter how much he wanted to.

He’d understand when Merlin got snappy because of his senses being bombarded with too much, and never blame him for it. He’d lay his head on his stomach as a comforting weight when panic became too much.

He’d say that he loves him, and he’s not going anywhere, he never is, and repeat those words over and over again, as many times as he needs to.

Merlin was sixty-five (three hundred twenty-five), when he became immortal. He could’ve used the spell that makes aging stop at thirty, like Ganieda, but the main reasons he didn’t was because he wanted to have natural white hair, not just changing his hair color, and he thought looking older would make him seem more distinguished. (If he’d aged badly, he would’ve shifted back to his younger appearance and kept the white hair. He didn’t, though.)

Charlie was a fully grown adult at five years old (three hundred thirteen), and just his head was as big as Merlin’s torso.

They went flying together now, and Merlin had crafted a saddle himself. Sometimes it was just a slow, leisurely fly for the sake of it; sometimes it was high speed, filled with loops and falling through the air. They still hardly ever argued about anything, but in the very rare occasion they did, they’d stay in the same room, spending time together in silence so they can calm down and see the other’s point of view. They always, always talked things out in the end.

They share the same feelings towards each other: I love you. I love you so much that I can’t fathom spending time away from you unless it’s absolutely necessary, and I’ve willingly chosen to stay with you for the rest of our lives. This bond was formed by a labor of love, and nothing can ever separate us, except for death.

I know things about you that no one else ever will. Typical familial terms like father figure or brother don’t fit us, because our relationship is far too complex to dilute it down into one role.

Soft whispers and gentle touches define us.

I am not leaving you. I am never leaving you.

One morning, after they woke up intertwined together, like always, there was a mark of swirls and leaves on Charlie’s right front leg, and when Merlin looked at his own body, there was one on his right bicep.

No one knew what they meant, until Merlin’s throat was slit after an ambush.

He didn’t die immediately. He choked on his own blood for at least ten minutes before he passed out, terrified of dying, hoping Charlie was safe, and would be able to recover in the end.

He woke up in a meadow filled with flowers, any signs of his violent death gone.

Before he could panic, a voice called his name.

He turned to see a being with completely dark, blue-ish gray skin.

Her hair, braided in a fishtail, long, feathered wings that almost dragged on the ground, and eyes, subtly glowing, were all completely white.

Golden earrings pierced her ears; a necklace of the same color with a red gem rested against her neck. A circlet that matched both was on her head.

Amara, goddess of life.

He immediately knelt in front of her, averting his eyes. He knew the legends, had seen paintings and murals of her. But why was she here?

Charlie appearing out of nowhere startled him. Completely forgetting about proper etiquette in front of a goddess, he ran to his dragon, stroking his fur and hugging him tightly.

Charlie hadn’t been hurt at all, unlike him. He didn’t know what had happened; he’d been trying to find him since their separation, and suddenly… he was here.

Amara had been quietly watching, smiling. She offered to explain, making both of them look at her; Merlin sheepishly apologized for his lack of decorum. She laughed and waved it off, understanding.

Charlie rested his head against his chest, and Merlin carded his fingers through his fur after they sat down. Amara explained that Merlin wasn’t going to die permanently: his heritage of being the former Anti-Christ had given him resurrective immortality. It was far more pragmatic than to make a new Anti-Christ every time one died. The markings on the two of them were from them becoming familiars, a bond of a precious animal companion and a wizard.

Charlie had received some of Merlin’s powers without them realizing it, which meant that if one of them died, they both would, and they would resurrect together. They also had a telepathic bond, like Merlin and Ganieda.

There was no spell to perform for them to become familiars. It was because they loved each other that much.

They’re still one of the only familiar pairs in the world, even now. Many wizards have animal companions, of course, but none of them have formed that bond created by a labor of love.

Art dump:

THEY ARE EVERYTHING TO ME. YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND.

Artist credits: HappyArt9, cat-gh0ul, NaldThal, heropaws, biposi, and honeyxmonkey!

[thethiefandtheairbender]

What do you say when people say that katara rejecting aang in eip was her saying she wasn't interested in him because it is an excuse but she was for jet

because Aang also gives her the perfect way to say that she doesn't like him and Katara doesn't take it

A: That I'm just like a brother to you, and you don't have feelings for me. K: I didn't say that. An actor said that. A: But it's true, isn't it?

All she had to say was "Yeah". She didn't and says almost word for word what Yue said to/about Sokka ("I wish we could just be friends, but I like you too much, and it's too confusing to be around you" / "Because we're in the middle of a war, and we have other things to think about right now. [...] I'm just a little confused"). That simple

I honestly think the element that EIP's balcony scene (i.e. that Katara wants to wait till after the war is over) offers to Kataang both 1) really important in contextualizing her expressions of her own crush towards him, 2) really interesting, and 3) important thematically. But post for another day maybe

Most of my thoughts on things I'd care to express in atla (shipping or otherwise) is in my atla meta tag, so I always recommend looking there first to see if I've said something you might want an answer to

[lord-squiggletits]

For the author ask: #12 & #23?

12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?

Very early in this fandom, I actually thought that I was only ever going to write PNP interfacing and would never write sticky because it didn't make sense, or at least if I did, it'd just be in PWPs and nonserious stuff, never in a plot fic. 😂😂 Can you imagine? Honestly, a lot of the "tropes" I used to dislike (or not understand the appeal of) but now like are kinda kink-related, but that's a little off-topic so maybe...

Honestly, I'm struggling to think of tropes whether for Transformers specifically or for my writing in general. I don't know that I really have an answer for this one...

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

I have an "Adaptus-Pharma survives the finale of LL" AU as well as a "Pharma gets away with the plague at Delphi" AU that I've already talked about or mentioned on here, so I'll try to think of something else.

Thanks to some discussion on the Pharma server, I've felt some itches to write another survival/resource scarcity fic in the lane of For Once, Nothing is Burning. Technically, FONIB was meant to satisfy that survival fic itch, but I've always felt like I could do way more with it. For one, FONIB is on a very small scale of just two people, and for two, as grim as the situation is, I don't think the MegOP situation there is super dire (or maybe I just underestimate how scary it is since I'm the author and know what happens).

Would like to try it particularly in a wartime context where 90% of tactics revolve around logistics. In IDW1 we even have canonical plot events like Skorponok blowing up the last energon refinery on Cybertron (Monstrosity) and Cybertron being permanently destroyed by the war (Stormbringer), even Shockwave predicting an energon shortage pre-war, but canon never really does anything with that. We're told that there's resource shortages, but nothing ever is really shown with it.

Then again, I'm not sure I'll do anything along those lines any time soon considering an author I like is already doing a survival oriented Tarnma fic series (mind the tags) and another one I like is currently planning one. And idk, something about that particular kind of horror/angst (yknow cannibalism, starvation, dying of preventable illnesses, slow death of the species) is really depressing to me, so I think I'll just let those authors/friends take care of it. I have enough angst on my plate as is lmao.

Oh, I also have a Shattered Glass Pharma idea that's just sort of sitting in my head as a concept that exists and I haven't done anything with bc my interest in SG is very selective (Pay Unto Evil-verse) or I just haven't found an appealing way to spin all of IDW1 into a mirror universe (I read the SG series done by IDW-- not the older one by FunPub-- but didn't care for it much).

[kakusu-shipping]

Koro-sensei is my favorite f/o-in-law by the way. Can you tell him I'd hug and smooch him please thank you

I can do you one better

(*￣3￣)╭

[ishipthis]

iWant it all with you.

iWant it all with you (1741 words) by Ishipthis Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: iCarly Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Freddie Benson/Carly Shay Characters: Freddie Benson, Carly Shay Additional Tags: Fluff, One Shot, Feelings, Love Confessions Summary: Carly wants everything with Freddie, it just takes a little misunderstanding to finally realise it's possible. Or; A oneshot based around episode 309 where feelings are felt.

[genderqueerpond]

this quora post making me fucking lose it

[mareastrorum]

Sorry, Essek Thelyss, famous for treason, is a cop?

I assume this ask in response to this post. If anyone doesn’t want to see, it is a shipping chart for C2 of critical role which features this:

Notably, the purple dudes are the only ones with a red line and such emojis, lol. And here are my tags:

During the campaign, Essek was a Shadowhand to the Bright Queen. Although Matt never gave us a precise job description, he generally described it in a Twitter post (and similar language was used in the EGtW):

Shadowhand is a title granted to those who focus on the dark mysteries of Exandria for the Bright Queen. This includes both subterfuge and arcana (like a specialist in the dangerous unknown). Spies, mages, and investigators that reach a certain station can be granted this title.

In Episode 57, Essek told the Nein that he had decision-making authority whether Yeza would be released from the Dungeon of Penance. We don’t know whether he had to answer to anyone for that decision, but he’s the one that approved Yeza leaving on the stream. Essek is also the one that coordinated with the Nein in later episodes regarding the Scourger prisoner (whom he killed in Epsiode 77 after she tried to kill Caleb).

I wasn’t being literal when I said Essek was a cop in the tags, but I don’t always include my ranty HCs in the tags. I view Essek as someone who wields the authority and will to invoke governmental punishment on people, such as jailing them, ergo, a “cop.” Politician doesn’t seem the right word to me since he was appointed by the Bright Queen and politicians don’t inherently have that power, and he’s more than just a noble born into the right Den because he has specific duties that involve prisoners at the Dungeon of Penance (which may or may not be limited to POWs).

All that said, whether he’s literally a cop isn’t the point. It’s more that he’s a particular type of authority figure that can choose to imprison people according to the government. That’s the exact type of person all three of the purple tieflings would not get along with. The fact that Essek betrayed the Dynasty wouldn’t really factor into it positively; if anything, that would make it worse because his violation of the Dynasty’s trust and his station caused the war in the first place. There’s a palpable difference between someone shirking that type of responsibility for good/neutral reasons (like Bryce Feelid ignoring discussions of mail fraud, for example) and doing it selfishly because he wanted to research dunamancy and didn’t care what happened to anyone else.

(Note: This isn’t a dig on Essek as a character. That’s why I like him.)

[baronessblixen]

Are u ok queen

Hmmm, sort of? Maybe? Not really? I don't know. Thank you for reaching out! I'm just taking a break. I don't know what's wrong but something definitely is wrong, so a break it is. I didn't think anyone would really care whether I was here or not. I apologize for that.

I will be back eventually. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, who knows. Stay kind, everyone. To yourselves too ✌️

[kotaromita]

are you... yk.... 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️?

yyyes? i mean, yeah, sort of. i'm bi. and, uh—the rest i'm still...figuring out.