#shhhhh it's fine

[anj-does-stuff]

Seal Master Arashi from Murder of Crows 🐦‍⬛

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What if Chapman was identical twins and Hendrick Chapman is Vice-Principal Chapman's (probably dead) twin brother?

IT ALL FITS. This explains why Chapman is so selfish and conniving in Andalite Chronicles but so selfless and honest in #2. Hedrick Chapman died in the black hole because Elfangor and Loren straight-up FORGOT HIM on the Jahar. His identical twin Bobson Chapman is living on Earth with no idea this happened. It's perfect because we never learn the first name of the kids' vice principal.

No wonder Chapman gives Loren a blank look when she comes up to him and starts talking about yeerks; he's never met this woman before in his life. No wonder Chapman ends up joining the Sharing as an adult despite getting yeerk-controlled as a teen; for all he knows his brother ran off and aliens don't exist. The Ellimist didn't intervene in Chapman's life at all; that's just Elfangor rationalizing after the fact because did I mention that he FORGOT to save Chapman from the killer asteroids?

[your-reluctant-optimist]

I got like 3 hours of sleep and I was going to have coffee first but this chapter Demands to be Written so fuck it we ball

It is 6am here btw

[a-polite-melody]

Considering that there’s another post going around that lands on this conclusion, I think it deserves its own succinct post:

When transmascs share instances of positivity to remind each other that the way we are treated isn’t all bad, it’s then used as proof of the whole of transmasc experiences being this way, and that transmascs are not oppressed as a whole.

When transmascs share instances of harm done to transmascs to raise awareness that transmascs are harmed directly within our societies, it’s used as proof that we are taking up too much room in conversations because the harm we face “isn’t bad enough”.

When transmascs share instances of outright murder of members of our community to show that no, transmasc issues are not somehow “lesser” because “we aren’t dying” because we are dying, it’s used as proof that we are trauma dumping and trying to make other people feel sorry for us—look at these AFABs being whiny and hysterical and trying to portray themselves as victims. Or that it isn’t specific enough to us so we should shut up and let other people speak for us.

Transmascs cannot speak about our experiences without being touted as an example of why transmascs as a whole should shut up.

This is erasure.

[ironbloodcd]

This brings back memories, admittedly, of times when he'd comforted Diluc so many years ago. His big brother, always the overly emotional one, needing to be soothed after he'd been scolded, or even simply because he'd been upset by something, and Kaeya...

Kaeya simply being there, whether it be so that his adopted brother might vent his frustrations, or get a desperately needed hug. Even as children, Kaeya had always been the more level-headed one, and in a way, that remained the case even now. That's an almost comforting fact, if the Cavalry Captain were to be honest - knowing that, despite all the time that's passed, some things have remained very much the same.

"Yeah... I missed you too," the darker man admits quietly, his arms squeezing slightly around his sibling as Diluc lets out what's likely years of pent up emotion. His redheaded brother has obviously needed this, but it would be a lie to say that Kaeya hadn't too. For the first time in years...

It feels like he's come home.

"You might not think that once I start getting on your nerves again though," Kaeya murmurs, a joking tone lacing his words as he allows Diluc's tears to soak a patch of his clothing, "but... as long as you'll have me, I... I'll do my best to make sure that never happens again, 'Luc..."

As he continues to hold his sobbing brother, Kaeya's gaze finds itself glancing towards the grave that seems to silently bear witness to their overdue reunion. Is their father watching from whatever afterlife exists? Is he glad to see his sons reconciling after so many years apart? Kaeya feels his heart quiver as those silent questions pass through his mind - he hopes that's the case, and that Crepus can forgive him for all the pain he's caused his older brother in the time since his adoptive father's passing.

"... happy birthday," he says quietly, the words slipping from his lips before he can think to say otherwise. He pauses, then clears his throat after a moment before continuing, "I've... wanted to be able to say that to you again for... a long time, big brother..."

Were the redhead to pull at Kaeya's garments any rougher, the fabric may very well buckle under the pressure. Gods, it had been FAR too long since he'd held his brother like this, and BEEN held. Far, far, far too damn long, and though they are working towards mending their broken bond, it wouldn't make up for all the lost moments. All the lost memories, the lost opportunities to grow up together, as they had once dreamed of.

He's always been the crybaby, hilariously enough, despite Crepus being RELENTLESS in how feverishly he'd attempted to shape his blood son into the perfect knight. Knights are strong, knights are able to steel themselves against things that would BREAK most people, but Crepus had made sure to remind Diluc often that VULNERABILITY, and the ability to both show and EMBRACE it, were important traits of a knight, as well. He's as damn vulnerable as he can possibly get in this very moment, and he's glad Adelinde and the other house maids weren't here to witness this, even if he knows they would not judge.

" I missed you... " He croaks, burying his face deeper into Kaeya's shoulder. Just the feeling of being back within his brother's arms, smelling his scent, hearing his voice, feeling his heartbeat... it's so, SO inexplicably healing. " I missed you s-so much, Kae. Please... I beg... let us never grow apart like that again. I... I could not bear it... "

Whatever it takes for them to mend, fully heal, and go back to how they used to be, Diluc is willing to do it without hesitation. He'll apologize a thousand times over until his throat feels raw and his lips begin to wither away if it means Kaeya will be a constant in his life again.

[citrus-c0la]

ITS OUR BIRTHDAY 🔥🎂🔥🎉🔥

[splintergirl13]

Screw it. Posts the hyperfixation lmao so I got sucked down the rabbit hole it's fine I'm fine

When you go to shoot your mortal enemy in the chest but they're smaller than you so you miss, featuring meme reaction images because I couldn't resist

[wigglebox]

Watching over you 💙💫 [x]

[nicholas-wolfwood]

More like two packs in the last few hours, but he'll leave that detail to himself...

"Oh yeah?" He certainly perked up at Vash's offer, sliding a little closer. "You have my attention, Blondie."

Two packs of cigarettes?? In ONE day?! Yeah, no, he had numerous concerns with that, too, judging by the way his brows jumped...!

"Maybe... I'll make sure to stick close today, though, just for peace of mind. Easier to manage stuff like this with someone watching your back, yeah?"

"And I'm sure I could help find another way to ease off some of the nerves, too."

[the-kipsabian]

[faeriekit]

Frozen Out

Another phic phight fill, another day; this one's for @akela-nakamura. No one is allowed to say anything about my need for Far Frozen fics.

(Sister fics are Snow Day and Snowdrift Sanctuary)

Breakfast comes, and breakfast goes. Frostbite cooked last night, so it’s leftover soup. 

There’s some kind of bird meat in it that Danny’s vaguely aware of, and a root vegetable that’s basically a hardy onion. The grain in it is a wild rice that’s virtually identical to the one in the human world, supposedly; Danny never had wild rice while he was eating at his parents’ house, though, so it’s new to him. 

It’s interesting how it cracks and breaks apart on his tongue. The food’s different here, but the Far Frozen has food that mostly matches human cuisine in far climates. Sure, it’s made of ghost birds and ghost vegetables and ghost grains, but they’re at least recognizable as sea birds, vegetation, and grain. It’s not weird for him to eat food that looked like food. 

If Danny had moved in with Princess Dorathea the way she’d offered, he’d be eating ghosts that looked like people. 

Yeah. This is better. 

Danny likes his soup. It’s reheated on the stovetop so that it’s warm. 

His bowl goes beside the door— he’ll scrape the dishes in the snow later— and goes for his coat and boots. There’s gloves that Neuschnee, Tundra’s mom,  knitted for him, on tiny needles that would have been hard for him to manipulate even without her huge clawed hands. 

They’re very warm. They have little green and blue stripes and little blue snowflakes spun on yeti-fur yarn. He likes them a lot. 

Danny leaves the warm interior of the cave, takes a big breath, and wanders out towards the center of the settlement. 

There are lots of occupied caves in the Far Frozen. Some of them are constructed in ice, but many are formed from natural rock— or whatever passes as ‘natural’ in the Infinite Realms. Early history of yeti society is rocky; there’s apparently debate as to whether the yetis found the land while wandering the zone, whether the land spawned the people to occupy it as a deterrent against wanderers and interlopers, or whether they all came into being together. 

“Aren’t you immortal? Or, you know…long-lived? Long-dead?” Danny had asked, confused. “Weren’t you here the whole time?”

“Yes,” Frostbite had agreed easily. 

“So…shouldn’t you remember?” 

“There are theories about that as well,” Frostbite had pointed out, amused with Danny’s frustration. “As it is, we do not.” 

So. There’s that. 

That being said, Danny knows there’s a lot of history; Arctic can recite cycles of songs for five hundred seasons back, and he’s not over a hundred years old. 

Probably. 

Danny stops beside a snow drift and scratches his head through his thick hood. Is Arctic a hundred years old? 

…Anyway, Danny continues, trucking onwards, if he is, he has to adjust his worldview on teenage yetis. If he’s not, then that means that Danny’s right about part two of his plan, which includes the vague idea that a society of yetis with an advanced medical techniques and application probably has a library somewhere. 

Or. You know. So he hopes. Man, if they pass down the entirety of their medical knowledge through oral tradition, Danny’s going to be screwed. Either way, he’s just in time to wander into Pritla’s glacial alcove before they’re finished with their own breakfast— a fish, apparently, devoured by sharp teeth and a huge maw. 

“Morning,” Danny greets, because he’s polite that way. He knows Pritla knows he’s here. Everyone so far has made fun of how loudly he walks. 

“Good morning, Phantom,” Pritla greets back, blue tongue licking bits of fish out from between huge fangs. Danny’s human right now, but for some reason, using his human name is culturally weird to them. It must be less intuitive, or something. It’s not like they can’t recognize him either way. “Is there something you’re missing?”

“No, thank you.” Last time he was here, it was because Jazz had sent over his workbooks and worksheets with pencils and no sharpener. Once the tips had snapped, it had all been over. “Is there a library?” 

Pritla’s furry eyebrows rise up over their brow ridge. “Did you expect there not to be one?” 

Danny’s nose squishes. “No. I assumed there is one. I just don’t know where it would be.”

The yeti’s eyes roll up to the ceiling; honestly, Danny knows that they do hard work for Frostbite, but they’re kind of annoying. “Have you tried downstairs?” 

“...Downwhat,” says Danny. 

So. It turns out. Far Frozen goes down. 

Like, there’s a hole in the ice, and it goes down— down long steps carved straight out of the ice, into blue-glowing tunnels woven with streams of rock and salt. 

“...Huh,” Danny observes. “Down.”

“Indeed,” Prita rumbles. The yeti turns, their bulk and form imposing as they head back up the stairs. “Everything is etched into the walls; feel free to make any copies of the writings you find. The farther down you go, the newer the writing becomes.”

“Thank you!” Danny hollers back, finally feeling some sense of burgeoning accomplishment. He’s almost there; all he has to do is take something impressive down, and get it copied onto something portable. He has old blank scrap paper stuck into his pockets. This should be easy. He feels very confident in reading into the yetis’ written cultural knowledge…

…And then notices that it’s written in an entirely different syllabary. 

Right. Danny wants to bang his head on the ice wall. Universally spoken ghost language, entirely different societal interpretation. Shoot. 

Interpreting this will take him ages. 

Still, Danny settles in; there’s no rush. He wasn’t supposed to have lessons today, since Tundra caught a wheeze and now he’s being all whiny about it, so he has all the time until dinner to copy and to get some graphite rubbings off the wall. 

Danny pulls up one of the carved stools, sits his butt down, and writes. 

*

“Frostbite?” 

Frostbite looks down. Danny smashes his face into the yeti’s fur; it’s hardly even a blow to his guardian, and it’s apparently instinctual for cubs to do something similar anyway. So. It’s a very affectionate gesture, even if it feels like playing rough to Danny. 

And Danny gets petted by a giant yeti hand. There are many advantages to living in the Far Frozen. 

Frostbite rumbles something, but Danny can’t actually hear him through the fur. He pokes his head out to get a listen. 

“—Good day?” 

“Mmhmm.” It had been productive, anyway. “I saw the library.” 

“The hall of records?” Frostbites ask, his voice a gentle rumble. Danny leans into the sound. “Ambitious of you. Did you learn anything new?”

Danny had. So he talks about the loss of the rainy seasons for snowy ones and The Year That It Rained Upwards, and about drifting too far against the edge of the Infinite Realms until they smashed into another kingdom and were forced to fight. He talks about the process of washing starlight moss until it becomes food instead of vegetation, and he talks about what it says about birthing traditions, and what it means to be Never-borne in a people that had probably never once lived in the human world.

Or maybe they had? There were some theories downstairs that speculated that they were the ghosts of real Yetis. Danny hadn’t known what to think. He’d taken the notes down anyway, because…well…what if they are? What if they’re all that’s left of the human world’s yeti population: ectoplasmic imprints and non-living beings??  

Frostbite knows everything Danny tells him about. Obviously. He was there for almost everything, too. But he lets Danny ramble on in a way that his parents never had, letting Danny explain his own history to him with new eyes and new words. It’s cathartic. Danny clings to Frostbite’s fur as the yeti walks around their living space, skinning and deboning Sky Whale meat to add to tonight’s meal. An adolescent human really weighs nothing to him. It’s so funny. 

“I am glad to know that you are able to take advantage of the histories,” Frostbite rumbles. Danny preens. “What encouraged you to seek them out?” 

Danny goes quiet. 

Frostbite looks over his shoulder to look at Danny, but lets Danny resolve his silence on his own terms. 

“...I wanted to see. If.” Danny licks his lips. Frostbite hums, showing that he’s listening. “If…if there’s records of a real ghost society, with its own language and culture and everything…they’ve gotta listen, right?”

The round knife in Frostbite’s hand stills. 

“They always say that…that ghosts are just pretending, that there’s nothing to ghost consciousness, that there’s nothing to anyone’s existence in the afterlife. But there’s records.” Danny’s throat tightens. “There’s known history. There’s language and a syllabary and…and there’s political conflict and agriculture and advanced medical care and weather charts. That has to be enough proof. If I show it to them, then they should be able to see.”

The knife gets set down. Frostbite wipes his hands on a towel. Danny can’t see his face. 

“It’s gotta be enough,” Danny tries again. His throat hurts. His eyes itch. But he thinks he could be right. “So if I show it to them, and they see it, and they see how far back the knowledge goes, and how careful everyone is to take care of each other and how nice everyone is and how good, and…and…”

Frostbite’s hug is soft, and warm. It’s amazing, and it’s not his Dad’s. Danny’s Dad is never going to hug him again. 

Danny cries. 

“Oh, little one,” Frostbite hums, and his face looks just as pained as Danny feels. “Little Phantom, it’s not safe for you to return to them, even to drop off records. If they had wanted to know more of the Infinite Realms, they would have tried to search them. I do not think that they are willing to listen, and I am too afraid to risk your health to see if they would change their minds when confronted with evidence.” 

He sobs. “But, but,” Danny cries, his throat torn with emotion. The hug pins his arms so his sides, so he just ends up snotting into his guardian’s fur. “...But I need them.” 

“I know, little one.” 

“They loved me,” Danny cries, because he knows that it had been true— that, once upon a time, there had been a family made of Jazz, Danny, Mom, and Dad. “They… Frostbite, I miss them so bad!”

Frostbite’s arms tighten. He lowers himself to the ground, until Danny is in a nest of yeti fur and pain and devastation and little else. 

“I know, little one,” Frostbite says, because there’s no other reassurance he can give. 

“I won’t… They’ll never want to see me again!”

“...I am so sorry,” Frostbite murmurs, endlessly patient with him. His ears are pulled back, his eyes taut with stress. 

He can’t help it. He breaks down. 

Danny clings. He cries— long, and loud, because pretending that he had a home to go back to had only worked until it stopped. He wants to go home. He wants to pretend to be all-human again. 

He’ll never go home. He’ll never pretend to be all-human again. 

He’ll do his lessons and Jazz will ferry his schoolwork to and from Casper High but he’ll never live with her again— never do his homework on her bed, never watch Dr. Phil with her on the couch, never eat lazy breakfasts with her or spend nights wondering if she’d come home safe from her date. 

Sam and Tucker can visit, but they’ll never be able to stay; every trip will be stolen, surreptitious, since they don’t have a reason to be in his house anymore. No more Tucker and Sam gaming nights. No more trips to catch dinner together at the Nasty Burger.

No more Ops Center. No more house. 

No more of Danny’s bedroom. 

Because otherwise, Mom and Dad would know. And they would get him. 

Mom and Dad don’t love him anymore. And…that’s the end of it.

So Danny cries himself out. Wipes off his nose with his undershirt sleeve. Resolves to get over himself. It hurts, because everything hurts, but there’s still life to be lived, kind of. Probably. 

Presumably. 

He doesn’t let go of Frostbite, though, who doesn’t let go of him; so Danny ends up eating his rare Sky Whale stew on a furry throne made of guardian yeti, blearily shoving food in his mouth until his stomach stops cramping. 

Frostbite puts him back into his coat, one arm at a time. Frostbite carries him out of their cave, even though it’s usually time for a bright night’s nap after dinner. Whatever. Danny doesn't have the energy to ask what’s happening to him. 

In the end, though, Danny does recognize Tundra’s Mom’s glacial ice cavern, since no one else has such carefully carved walls. 

Frostbite doesn’t ask, and Neuschnee doesn’t disrupt; she sits, calm, carving a soapstone block, as Danny gets laid down on their woven carpet. 

Danny blinks. 

Frostbite goes, and comes back— and Neuschnee smiles wryly as Tundra gets placed down beside Danny, fast asleep and dreaming of cars. 

Danny’s never been in such a huge, furry cuddle pile before, but as Frostbite lays down, his huge shoulder pushing him into Tundra’s smaller form in a cascade of ghost dominoes…

It’s nice. 

Danny will never have back what he had, but he has this. 

…That can be enough. Right?

Danny doesn’t know the answer for sure, but he falls asleep still thinking about it, the scrape of knife on stone all that he can hear. 

…Sure. This can be enough for now. 

[xformalde-hyde]

Tattered.

[jellydragons]

“That’s no ordinary mirror.”

So what do you reckon Wild, like… saw?

Individual frames:

[feeling--pink]

Day 21 (purple) - Polytectives 💜

WOOHOO LAST ONE!!! I just had to end this little pride month rainbow series with my absolute beloved QPR the drawtectives trio!! Of course, referencing the excellent polyam trio pose reference made by mcnuggy!!

[age-of-moonknight]

Variant cover for Moon Knight: Fist of Khonshu (Vol. 2/2024), #1 by Aka.

[ironbloodcd]

Between the two of them, Aether's always been the more emotional one by a long shot - the one to let his feelings get the better of him, the one to think more with his heart than with his head. Albedo, meanwhile, rarely seems to lose his composure. Aether can count on one hand the number of times that he's seen the alchemist lose his cool - and usually, he collects himself quite quickly afterwards.

This outburst though... it's obvious that this fear has a tight grip on Albedo. Blinking past the tears that have gathered in his own eyes, Aether draws in a shuddering breath. He afraid too, after all - afraid of losing Albedo, as he very nearly had, and the alchemist... well, he'd very nearly lost Aether, hadn't he? To his own hands, nonetheless, to that part that the artificial man feared would, someday, steal away everything that he held dear.

The part of him that Albedo believed made him more monster than man.

"A-Albedo..." Clearing his throat, Aether struggles to gather his words - not an easy task when the pain from his wounds is so distracting. Nonetheless, the blonde pushes through the dizziness that leaves his head spinning, and reaches up clumsily to wipe his own tears away with the back of his hand. He might need Albedo right now, but Albedo... he needs him as well, doesn't he?

"You're not... you're not a monster," he begins, forcing himself to swallow down the lump in his throat, "a monster... a m-monster would've finished the job, Albedo, you... you didn't. Y-You... came back..."

Bracing himself, Aether sucks in a breath then and forces himself into a sitting position - and admittedly, he isn't able to hold back the groan of pain that rises from his throat. He's had worse though, he tells himself - much worse. There's something far more at stake here too. He has to help his partner before the other man crumbles beneath the weight that he's obviously bearing upon his shoulders.

"I-It's... It's my fault too," he continues, golden eyes fluttering shut so as to keep from growing too dizzy, "I... promised that I'd stop you. I d-didn't, and... I got hurt because of it. ... and... s-so did you..." Maybe not physically, but knowing that he'd very nearly killed the traveler... it must have been tearing Albedo apart.

"Y... You need help, b-but you're... you're not a monster, Alby. You... s-someone like you could never... never be that..."

@ironbloodcd ;; MOVED TO BETA EDITOR .

Why ? WHY ?

It blares like a SIREN in his head -- why, Why, WHY !? He'd hurt him, nearly KILLED him, and here Aether was, concerning himself NEEDLESSLY with Albedo's well-being, of all things. Albedo was not the one injured--- ALBEDO was not the one who had nearly had the air SEIZED from him by someone he was supposed to trust, to be LOVED by.

As that hand reaches out in search of CONTACT with the alchemist, the man born from chalk and flowers steps away yet again. The guilt eats away at him, makes him feel disgusting, NAUSEOUS, and he cannot even look Aether in the eye anymore, lest that nausea escalate and he loses the delightful breakfast he'd had not too long ago, before everything had taken such a terribly GRIM turn. " I cannot. I am . . . I'm sorry. Do you not understand what I have done ? Do you not understand the gravity of this situation ? I nearly KILLED you with my own blade, my own two HANDS, Aether. "

" What do you NOT understand about the fact that I am a MONSTER, and I should not be AROUND you !? "