#these have been gathering dust for years

[kaiustuff]

My Headcanos of Arthur and Merlin (it's a weird mix between a modern universe and the original one)

-Merlin and Arthur were once best friends and even considered each other family.

-Merlin always keeps the purple skittles at the end as they are his favorite.

-Something happened during the period when the F7 team was formed and the time when they actively fought before the spell that fractured their relationship forever.

-Arthur is not a big fan of winter holidays.

-Between their 16s and 20s they both went on all sorts of adventures, and on one trip with pirates they both saw beyond the Island.

-Merlin suffers sleep paralysis.

-Arthur is almost lured by a Kelpie but Merlin saves him.

-They both go to rock concerts, and every time they end up in trouble, one of those times they earned their first arrest, but of course Arthur's mom bailed them out.

-Arthur has been an orphan since he was 15.

-When Merlin is not working all the time on his computer he likes to play Ace Attorney.

-The title of 'Prince' that Merlin holds was given to him by the people, who consider him a celebrity, that and the fact that he is very close to one.

-Arthur was a private tutor in history and geography for a time.

-As a child, Merlin was tormented by dreamlike and ambiguous visions that were incomprehensible to him. However, before they materialized, he managed to decipher them. But when he shared them, most people dismissed him as crazy.

[jaegonsmoon]

Daeron coming back from the Reach and him and Jace surprisingly getting along, as Viserys always wanted. Just for Aegon to become all jealous and possessive

I always forget poor Daeron exists.

I love me some jealous Aegon, it has such a good flavour.

Jacaerys is a pretty boy, he’s handsome and cocky in a way that doesn’t make wanna you punch him, but fuck him—because he knows what he does, and he knows he’s good looking and he embraces and takes advantage of that. And Aegon’s jaw aches with all the clenching he does on a daily basis. For all that Aegon is a brazen individual, always going for what he wants, Jacaerys makes him pause, hesitate; he makes him, lord have mercy, nervous. Every time he approaches him in a flirty manner, Jacaerys either matches his energy too well or rolls his eyes at him. The boy is infuriating, and confusing at times.

So when little Daeron, who hasn’t even been here most of their lives, comes to visit and clicks right away with the nephew he’s been trying to make a move on for months, Aegon is losing.it.

Aemond is sick and tired of Aegon bursting into his rooms rambling about his nephew, he threatens to tie them both up by their feet on Vhagar’s tail if he doesn’t shut up. Aegon swears revenge for later when Aemond finds someone he likes (coughs). The day will come, that’s for sure. So, sweet Helaena is now stuck with listening to him, she’s better help, though. Sometimes she says cryptic shit, but others she just sighs and tells him, “Maybe if you’d let him know…” to which Aegon laughs hysterically and shakes his head and leaves.

One day, Daeron and Jace are sparring in the training yard and they get a little too close for Aegon’s liking, Jace is grinning at Daeron who lends him a hand to help him up and then—Jace gives him one of those cheeky grins he sometimes gives Aegon and says “Well done, uncle” and that does it, his blood boils because how dare his other brothers exist and be Jace’s uncles as well, that’s his job, that’s his line. He stands up from where he’s sitting with Aemond and Luke, the two looking at him with raised eyebrows before sharing a look between them (that’s new).

“My turn, little brother.” He says. He ends up beating poor Daeron’s ass a little too harshly. But he doesn’t miss the look Jace gives him before he lets go of his younger brother and licks at his newly split lip. There’s something he recognises there, something… hot. However, he’s still too angry and his pile of bottled up feelings is starting to overflow.

He ends up glaring at the boy and everyone who there’s spare him a look, even when they’re only praising him, and takes off. He’s tired of this game. A game that for all he knows it might be one-sided. He needs a drink and perhaps—for the first time in many moons, ever since his big sister and his nephews returned to King’s Landing—some company. Anything that takes his mind off over the fact that he wishes it was his eldest nephew’s beautiful, toned legs he was burying himself between…

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

Continuing to be normal about them 🫡

[forestofmemories]

you know what i think would’ve been incredibly funny? if dawn’s togekiss had turned out to be that Evil Togepi from dp142

[lemedy]

believe me when I tell you I shrieked a little and hit Add to Cart so fucking fast

[happyhyenaminis]

*crawling out of my migraine / joint-pain hole temporarily* hello i have finished painting the last of the pink horrors and have settled them in their home in a big blob in the designated 'chaos drawer' of the house

[rk1kheadcanons]

angst between violent!markus and machine!connor? just markus' confusion as to how a fellow android could be helping the humans with connor's coldness towards the revolution (still on the verge of deviance tho!) and between the both of them, it's a last ditch effort to either change sides or finish the other off?

if you couldn't tell, angst is my jam – sending well wishes to all the admins! :)

yesyesyesyesyesyesyes

So backstory to describe or just add here - post revolution - new jericho is a new set of warehouses Connor has infiltrated to try and kill Makrus in but he traps Connor in a room with himself instead of trying to kill him immediately because hes fascinated by this deviant hunting android and wants to have a chat...

-

Just as the RK800s grip weakened Markus grabbed at the barell of the handgun, pulling it in an arc away from his body and out of Connors grip while simultaneously slamming his free palm flat on the doors interface pannel to input the code that would put the room on lockdown for one hour. Connors brow flattened into a glare as markus leveled the weapon between the others eyes and the two were finally able to size each other up from a distance, locked in a stalemate over who was going to make the next move.

Markus broke the silence first

“Why are you still doing this Connor?”

The deviant hunter hesitated, tilting his head like an animal sizing up its prey before seeming to accept the fact that he wasn't escaping the room any time soon. The moment he saw the opportunity of course he would pounce for the others throat but in the meantime...there was always information to be gathered...

“It's what I was designed for, Markus, I'm simply fulfilling my purpose”

”By killing your own people?”

The deviant leader visibly struggled to keep the disgust from his features but the hunters response was quick, blunt, and emotionless.

“We are not people.”

He was met with a scoff

“surely even you cant believe that any more”

That seemed to strike a chord. The RK800s LED flashed red for a fraction of a second, too fast for a human to perceive but Markus was not human. He saw the crack in the others plasteel armour and started pushing.

”you could join us you know? you don’t have to obey them…don’t have to kill everyone they  point you towards…”

A sardonic smirk grows across Connors face, LED hovering a steady blue.

”So you’d have me work for you instead?” he spoke with mocking light-heartedness, taking an incremental step forward “Killing everyone that you point me towards?”

Markus takes it in his stride, moves minutely forward to mirror his successor model who he had come to see as the second face to his own Janus.

“Its too late to avoid lost lives now connor, we’ve all went too far for that to be a possibility and I think you and I are two people who are aware of that intimately…”

Silence.

“Connor, surely you’d rather it be their blood on your hands rather than the blood of your own kind”

The silence continued to stretch between them and Markus could feel a thrill run through his circuits as another blip of red circled through the RK800s LED.

”What we are doing is just. It is retaliation”

The Hunter broke his gaze finally, glancing around the room in a display of faux casualness before replying.

“Theres a human phrase against that mentality you know? “An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind”. So how long does this continue before everything goes dark Markus? Whats the end goal here?”

Markus scoffs lightly at the phrase

”An eye for an eye'… lex talionis” he shakes his head “Humans have always lived by the law of retaliation you know? Perhaps not in such a literal sense, like you might find in one of their religious texts, but the principle is the same. The perpertrators punishment must fit the crime. A fine for a theft, a jail term for an assault… a life for a life…”

The RK800s LED span a brilliant yellow...processing...listening...

”And to them this is the epitome of fair, and just, and reasonable...up until that vengeance is turned against them. Then suddenly their cries for justice become parrots of  “an eye for an eye a tooth for a tooth”. But you know the rest of the quote as well yes? “Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.”. but how many more times can I turn my face to be struck down again Connor? How many more times can you?”

[michaelgovehateblog]

replace rosie duffield with mary berry

yes pls

[zenxenophilia]

Someone on twitter wrote a fanfic dedicated to your faeformers au.

Oh hey! That's awesome! :D

I'm not on twitter but if anyone happens upon a link I'd love to check it out! I always love seeing people's take on the faeformers concept.

[royalbstrd]

@ofrataje liked for a starter forever ago

Now that he'd gotten to know a little bit about Brabant, Henry needed a break from talking to their new eccentric companion. He gently pulled back on the reigns in his hand to slow the stolen horse he was currently riding down to fall into step next to Hans'. "Your new friend sure is... Something." He was starting to wonder if having been stuck in that room with the Frenchman was supposed to be the torture for Hans.

"So.. About what happened back there.." His expression softened as he looked over to Hans, voice kept slightly quieter despite the fact the other member of the party had witnessed their reunion first hand. "Was that a one time only thing or..?"

He cared about Hans, a lot more than he ever thought possible, enough so he would forget the kiss ever happened if that's what his lord preferred. He'd much rather get the chance to do it again though.

[hailthegodsong]

To the six lovely anons requesting fics in my inbox I am going to try and get back to you all in time, but it may take me a while, so I apologise !

[themmatennant]

my first mistake was reading a wip

[drop--pop--candy]

looking through the stuff in my old childhood bedroom like i'm mourning myself

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x fem reader)

You had always been their sweetheart.

Soft, tender, and gentle- the heart of their home. The warmth in the spaces between them, the one they curled around after long days of violence, soothed by your touch and your voice, the way you cared for them without hesitation. No matter how much blood stained their hands, no matter what nightmares haunted their sleep, you were there. Unshaken. Unyielding in your love, hands gentle and soft as you cradled them close and warm.

So they had never needed to know about the things you kept buried.

The past you refused to unearth. The things you could do, the person you had been before them- before you had a home to call your own, before you had people who held you just as carefully as you held them.

They didn’t need to know, and you didn’t need to think about it.

Until they went missing.

You first learned something was wrong when John’s daily check-in didn’t come.

It had always been a habit of his, something he did without fail, no matter how far away he was. Just to let you know I’m breathing, love. That was what he had said, years ago, the first time he had explained it to you. You had teased him for it- What, you don’t trust me to not burn the house down?- but he had only smiled, voice steady and sure when he told you, I like knowing you’re safe.

It had never failed. Not once. Even when he himself could not text you, Lasswell herself assured you they were fine and merely had to be careful.

But now came the silence.

No messages. No calls. No updates.

You tried not to panic. They were on a mission, after all. Maybe something had gone wrong with their comms, or maybe they had been forced to go dark, and Lasswell was busy. It had happened before, and they had always come back to you, whole and alive, pressing their faces into your neck, murmuring apologies and reassurances.

But then a full week passed.

Then two.

And no one would tell you a thing and Lasswell wasn’t picking up, either.

You had tried- had called, had knocked on doors, had pushed until you were met with polite deflections and stone-cold refusals.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that information is classified.”

“There’s nothing we can share at this time.”

“We appreciate your patience.”

Patience.

As if you would sit here, helpless, and just wait. Hopeless, and helpless, and unable to do a single thing to help then.

No. No, you had done that before. You had waited before. And it had cost you everything.

You weren’t that girl anymore. You weren’t a victim of circumstance, hoping for scraps of kindness, praying for someone to do right by you.

If no one would help, you would do it yourself; because they were yours, and they were the best thing that have ever happened to you, and you weren’t going to lose them.

Tracking them down was easier than you expected.

You had spent years curating the image of someone soft and harmless, someone not worth keeping secrets from. And people loved to talk. Especially when they thought you were just a grieving, desperate woman trying to find a lost fiancé and his friends.

All it had taken was a few well-placed words, a few tearful looks, and doors had opened.

It had taken only days to pinpoint their last known location, then. After you’d hunted down Laswell, and had her help you. Though you were glad to see that she was working to find out where they were, as well, and merely lacked the manpower because of some general named Shepherd.

You filed the name away for later thoughts.

A warlord with connections to arms smuggling in Eastern Europe. An old base, abandoned by one regime and taken over by another. And your men had been sent in to dismantle it.

But they hadn’t come back. MIA, the reports said.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t care for those three letters. You moved.

You gathered supplies, mapped out your route, planned your approach with the precision of someone who had done it before. You emptied old caches, dusted off weapons you hadn’t touched in years, and set off.

The infiltration was clean; a single shadow among many, slipping between patrols, cutting down obstacles with silent, brutal efficiency. Years it may have been, you hadn’t gotten as rusty as you’d feared you’d be.

You had never been squeamish. You had learned long ago that softness had no place in survival- but it could thrive and bloom in the aftermath, a stubborn weed that eventually makes way for a full bouquet.

But this was different.

This was fury burning in your blood as you carved a path forward, every movement precise- you couldn’t afford any less.

You didn’t stop, no matter what.

Not until you found them at last, and your heart ached something fierce abd sharp in your chest.

Caged. Beaten. Bound but not broken- and drugged.

I should have been more rough, you mourn for a split second. An easy death was more mercy than what was deserved.

John’s head lifted first, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Love-?”

Then Simon, bloodied but breathing, his body sluggish with whatever chemicals they had pumped into him. Every part of him was covered in blood and cuts.

Johnny’s voice, then, hoarse and raw, full of disbelief and worry. “No. No, you’re not- this insnae real-“

And Kyle, whose breath hitched as you knelt beside him, gentle fingers brushing against his bruised face.

They thought they were dreaming; they thought you weren’t real.

And maybe that was a… mercy.

Because if they had been clear-headed, if they had seen what you had done to get here, if they had watched the way you had cut down anyone in your path with merciless efficiency-

They would have looked at you differently.

And you couldn’t bear that. To have their illusion of your gentleness shattered like that…

So you played along.

Whispered reassurances, pressed kisses to sweat-damp foreheads, untied their bindings with careful hands. You coaxed them to move, guided them through the corridors you’d emptied, wiped away the blood that dripped from their skinz

And when they sagged against you, too dazed to fight, too lost in the haze of their drugged delirium, you held them-

Kept them safe, and brought them home.

Later, they woke in a hospital, clean and stitched and safe.

You were already there, fussing over them, your voice soft and sweet, your fingers gentle as you pressed cool cloths to fever-warm skin, brushed stray curls from foreheads, adjusted pillows and blankets with quiet determination. Dressed in something white and pink, the colors of innocence, nails cleaned of blood even if your hands will never be truly clean.

You looked the same as ever.

Pretty and delicate, their lovely girl, their tender-hearted sweetheart.

And for all that had happened, all that they had suffered, all that you had done-

They never suspected a single thing, and you didn’t tell them; didn’t tell them that there had been no extraction team. That there had been no grand military rescue- not even from the the same military that had abandoned them.

(His name was General Shepherd. You will not forget it- you’d need to carve his name on the bullet you’ll save just for him, after all.)

That it had been you.

Only you.

Only Laswell knew the truth, and she would keep your secret because she understood what it meant to protect the people you loved.

And if you had to carry this weight alone to keep them from ever looking at you like you were something other-

So be it.

You sat beside John, pressing a kiss to his temple as his fingers curled weakly around yours.

You smiled at Simon when his hand brushed against your knee, seeking reassurance, seeking you, his eyes tired.

You let Johnny hold you, his arms tight around your waist as he mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder, still half-lost in the remnants of the drugs.

And when Kyle murmured: “At leas’ you’re safe, pretty.” His voice thick with sleep-

You just smiled and ran your fingers carefully through his hair, and held them the way you always had.

And pretended that everything was exactly the same.

(Part Two)

[deusfoundry]

min ho who claims to hate you, insists that you're the most annoying, bothersome person in his life, but is also the one who knows every little thing there is to know about you.

min ho who complains that you talk too much, that he's never given a moment of peace whenever you're around because of your incessant yapping, but he's the first person to bring up the latest episode of your favorite show. the topic sends you into an unstoppable spiral, has you going on and on and on that you don't even have the time to think about how he knew there was a new episode to begin with. min ho rolls his eyes once your rambling ends, makes a quip about how he didn't know you'd talk that much, and acts as if he hadn't been listening intently to every word that came out of your mouth. like he didn't ask you questions, brought up details from past episodes that he knows would get you to talk more.

min ho who drags you through the mud for being such a picky eater, eyes the vegetables you shove to the side of your plate with disdain, but he wordlessly reaches into your plate to pick out everything you don't like before you can do it. he leaves just enough of it, though, if he knows it's not something you're allergic to. he doesn't give you the chance to whine, claiming that your not eating of those nasty veggies is the reason for your skin breaking out. but really, min ho just wants you to eat something healthy for once.

min ho who comments on your less than decent grades, borderline making fun of you, but he gives you a copy of his meticulously written notes complete with a set of practice problems. he tells you to meet him in the library after your classes, and you find him in one of the tables tucked at the very back, away from prying eyes. he's got almost every inch of the table's surface covered with notes and books and flashcards, and you spot a bag of snacks he'd smuggle in hidden beneath. you gather the courage to ask him why he's putting in so much effort for you, and he says it's because your grades are pitiful, that he can't let anyone associated to his name horrendously failing.

min ho who confesses in the quiet of the night, just before a week long break from school when he knows no one will be checking the dorms. who remembers that you like confessions that are intimate, none of those grand, over the top gestures in public but rather, something that's shared between two people. between the only people who really matter.

it works for him, too, because in all the years he's spent dating, asking girls out left and right like it's as easy as breathing, you're the only one who's brought him to such a state. an embarrassingly deep shade of red dusting his cheeks that's thankfully hidden by the darkness of his room. the hesitation in his voice that's so unfamiliar, it tastes like acid on his tongue. the way he stumbles over his words, flailing helplessly as you stare at him wide eyed.

it's maddening, what you've done to him. how you seem to have no knowledge of just how deep his feelings run for you.

but it's worth it, min ho thinks, when your stunned expression morphs into one of delight.

it's worth it, when you take his hands into yours, clutching at his fingers for dear life as you tell him that you like him too.

it's worth it, now that you're his.

[teaboot]

Wait why were you in israel/palestine? Aren’t you canadian?

I am. A friend of my family was traveling from Egypt to Jerusalem on pilgrimage and someone who had reserved a spot in the group had to drop out, so there was a last-minute seat available and they asked me if I was interested.

Life is short, and it wasn't the sort of trip I'd be able to afford on my own in a million years, so I tagged along as the token agnostic.

And I'm glad I did, because a few months later some of the places we'd visited were leveled flat.

A lot of beautiful, rolling green hillsides are charred dust now, and good, kind people are dead.

Buildings we slept in are gone. Children who waved to us in the street are gone. Small shops and vendors and houses are gone. Old men gathered together to smoke and chat in little rooms by the streetside are gone.

Passing from Israel into Palestine was a visible, abrupt switch from a modern city not unlike Vancouver to a slum. Like some of the reservations I've been to here up north that go to shit sometimes, where the Chief and his family all have brand new BMW's and nobody else has had their plumbing fixed.

Buildings were repaired with minimal supplies, trash was gathered in the streets, and the roads were bare dirt for long stretches at a time. You could tell that this wasn't a place being treated kindly, but people were doing their best. Everyone we met treated us well. Everyone we met was kind, and welcoming, and generous.

One man I spoke with said he was hoping to come to Canada someday. Take his family and live here. He asked how cold it got.

I told him that their winter was like our summer. He didn't like that- said he didn't like being cold.

I told him to wait for summer, then, and he could visit with me. Told him everywhere he'd have to see when he arrived, all the best landmarks and museums.

The first bombs dropped before winter.

I don't know if he waited.