#this gets to be rated T

[mangosaurus]

Jurassic World: Chaos Theory - Cabin Attack Clip ☆

[blackthorn-faerie]

Shout out to the middle aged man who was eagerly (and not very subtly) reading my aventio fanfiction over my shoulder this morning on the train. I hope you can find it later so you can finish it, king

[idliketobeatree]

Here is one of the best friends he's made in what seems like forever; she's so open and sweet, beautiful and brilliant. It was inevitable, he thinks, that Niko Sasaki would effortlessly endear herself to Charles like a lost younger sister.

(And that is another story entirely, but not one for Edwin to tell.)

He finds it contradistinctive, Niko Sasaki becoming a new source and the easiest target of Charles' spontaneous, affectionate smiles — different than watching him stumble around Crystal. It's well-nigh surprising just how secure Edwin feels, observing their budding friendship, the phantom echo of it spreading around his chest like a slow warmth from a hearth. He harbours no jealousy or hurt at the frequency with which their more private conversations take place. He does not mind the way Niko wraps her hand around Charles' arm as they walk, not one bit, when his best friend's sole attention is focused on her excited chatter. He can thoroughly relate, after all.

As a matter of fact, Edwin suspects that the only thing he'll have to worry about is stifling an inelegant snort when they're all descending a hill in the middle of a legwork-heavy case and Charles picks Niko up for an impromptu piggyback ride.

"No no no no, put me down!", her voice carries over their heads, but Niko's shrieking protest dies in her throat just as quickly as it came to life, turning into an appreciative whistle at the view. In front of them, Crystal turns on her heel and raises her eyebrows in amusement.

"You're that desperate to be the last at home?"

"Please, we'll be there faster than you lot. Right, Niko?" Charles, ever the multitasker, uses his shrug to adjust the grip on Niko's swaying legs. "Edwin?"

He dares to look in their direction, dreading... precisely double the amount of puppy eyes sent his way. His lips twitch in a helpless smile.

"I must agree. The Charles Express is quite a commendable machine. I would not underestimate it, Crystal."

Charles barks out a laugh. Whatever expression Niko must've had on her face breaks through Crystal's composure; she, too, cracks up, a spring in her step as she turns to walk forward again.

"Can barely feel her, can't I? Lighter than my backpack," Charles says, matter-of-factly.

"It's not a race."

"It could be a race."

"I'm not going to race you down the hill in these platforms, be serious—"

"That doesn't sound like a definite no," Niko pipes in.

"Take them off, then," offers Charles.

Edwin glances up at the orange sun set against the milky autumn sky, to his left; the brightest thing on the horizon. He hears her gasps of delight at Charles' cheeky step through the trunk in their way. Something inside him has been shifting and smoothing out for quite a while. Edwin doesn't know how long it will last or what the destination will be. All he knows is that the slope hits his feet once or twice at most.

One afternoon she invites them to watch Scooby Doo together. It's the first time they've gathered as a trio, and Edwin immediately understands why this hasn't happened before when Niko unlocks the door to her room. The bed they usually end up on is narrow to say the least, why hadn't he noticed that before, but it seems too late to make a flimsy excuse and eloign himself from the picture. They were long overdue.

Charles, who looks about ready to turn into an orb of post-case tension, has no qualms about using the threshold for a shimmering quick wardrobe change. He appears right at home, comfortable, downright domestic, in socks, trousers and a polo shirt, sliding his suspenders down and trailing after Niko who heads for the coat hanger.

What Edwin doesn't expect, apart from the rather tight fit for three people - or rather two ghost boys and one living girl - is Niko giving him a knowing look over Charles' head as he unceremoniously flops down on the bed. His groan, which prompts Niko to pat him sympathetically on said head, makes Edwin snap his open mouth shut, suddenly flustered.

He waits politely, pulling down his knitted vest and admiring the decorative sequins sewn onto a flowery cushion, deliberately not looking at the long line of Charles sprawled on the neatly tucked in duvet. He half-listens to Niko as she chatters on, something about needing to show them the more modern rendition of their Mystery Inc. detectives, grabbing her laptop from the desk and sitting down in the very middle, hip-checking Charles' side. Charles sluggishly lifts himself and rolls onto his back, pushing himself up, shoulders halfway up the headboard, neck supported by a plush pillow, hands folded across his chest and long, long legs crossed at the ankles. He must have done this several times now, Edwin's lungs remind him before tightening into knots. The mattress barely dips when he gingerly sits down and settles, too. His back remains straight, and he is barely brushing her arm when she announces out of the blue, "I forgot my snacks. Give me a moment," climbing off the bed and leaving them in — on Edwin's side — suddenly charged, tense silence.

It feels different, of course it does, and Edwin feels guilty that his carefully tucked away thoughts are knocking on the doors of his consciousness when they're in Niko's room, for God's sake. Edwin tries to subtly move away from the overwhelmingly horizontal line of Charles' body. Right now, sitting cross-legged, Edwin's knees are barely touching him, and he bumps his knee against Charles' arm twice before stilling. He doesn't want to hunch down; never again. He stays put.

The sensation of Charles' bony elbow is like the flash of a sharp smile. The room fills with a low hum, something musical and... campy that Niko must have shown Charles on one of those afternoons. With his eyes closed, Edwin compartmentalises the points of sharp heat.

Much, much later, Charles jogs up to the beach where Niko and Edwin are watching the starfish. "What're you doing?", he asks curiously, just when Edwin finishes talking about their lack of a centralised brain.

He hears the shift in Charles' posture more than his opening to say something mouth, and a second of hesitation before it closes again.

He wonders if Charles has noticed their colours.

Niko sends Charles a lingering smile. Her eyes crinkle with mirth. "Luckily, love requires no logic", she says cryptically. They don't notice, crouching down as they are, but his head tilts synonymously with Niko's and Edwin's.

When he dares to peek at Niko, he finds her eyes locked with Charles', with an expression that Edwin knows she must have learned recently, but is not sure when exactly. It says something like, go on. Be brave.

He swallows and clenches his fingers around the red, red sea glass in his coat pocket.

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Week 2024 | Steddie Microfic

July 7th prompt: Free Space - Mystery, Hands, Long, Trade, Exes to Lovers or Getting Back Together, Drunken Confession (aka I combined all the prompts I didn’t use this week) | July prompt: one

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6

Word count: 1,111

No warnings apply

Rated T

@steddie-week | @steddiemicrofic

It was never a mystery, to Steve, how they got together. How they worked together.

The only mystery is how he managed to let him go—to lose him in a way Steve hadn’t understood until Eddie. Because Nancy was great, she was fantastic, Steve was in love. He doesn’t doubt that. But it never felt like it did with Eddie: low lights in the club, hands on each other’s bodies, open-mouth kisses that really was nothing more than them panting into each other’s mouths—

Stumbling into the bathroom, or into either of their bedrooms, hands in hair and under shirts and unbuckling belts—

Sleepy, slow morning kisses. Breakfast. Holidays.

How did it end?

Steve thinks, remembers fists clenched at sides, red faces, stiff shoulders.

Remembers shouted words, cold shoulders, slammed doors.

Remembers the key left on the kitchen counter.

That had done it, he remembers, he had called Robin, already sobbing, and she was on her bike and halfway there practically before she had hung up the phone. She’d held him as he fell apart on the kitchen tiles.

Then again, when he went to go to bed. Saw the two pillows. Threw one off; it hit the wall, slid down. Had to change the sheets; they smelled too much like him.

It took him a long time—a really long time—to get to the point he’d be okay on his own for more than a couple hours, to the point he could go out to clubs again. Not the same ones he’d gone to, never those, but… he moved on. Kind of.

He knew, and Robin knew, that part of him, at least, would always love Eddie.

It’s why when they’re in a club—a new one they had just found, okay music but better drinks and prospects—and Steve grabs her arm, she looks the direction he is.

He feels like he’s swallowing sandpaper. “His hair is longer.”

“It is.” She pries his fingers off, just so he’s not bruising her anymore, but holds his hand. “What do you want to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters, watches the way Eddie prowls through the crowd, smirking at people, but still definitely on his way to the bar.

The bar. “I’m gonna get us more drinks,” he says. They both ignore the fact that they’ve barely touched their current glasses.

“Let me know if you need backup.”

“Will do.” He looks at her, for the first time since seeing him, and smiles. “Love you, Robbie.”

She rolls her eyes, but smiles. “Love you, dingus. Go get your man back.”

Steve makes it to the bar before Eddie, asks for whatever is on tap. Looks away at the wall. Can’t watch him walk up. 

“Long Island,” he hears directly beside him, and turns to see Eddie turning to see Steve.

He takes a breath. “Eddie.”

Eddie looks… he looks good, because he always does, but he looks tired, maybe a little thinner. Not… not good, not happy like he was. He swallows. “Steve.”

The bartender hands over their drinks, and Steve takes a sip only to cough. “Sorry, fuck,” he mutters, finally looking at the glass in his hand. He’s got the Long Island, and Eddie’s got his beer.

Eddie’s watching him with an interesting little smile. “Trade?”

“Trade,” Steve agrees, nodding. He coughs again. “God, how do you like that?”

Eddie snickers, pulls a lock of hair over his face. Steve wishes he wouldn’t.

Miraculously, they keep talking. They’re never searching for the next word to make the silence go away because there is no silence.

Eventually Robin comes up to him, pulls him into a hug. “Imma go home with that girl,” she murmurs, pointing behind her. A cute, preppy-looking blonde smiles nervously at Steve. He smiles at her, then back to Robin. “Of course. Call the house, give me the address.” He kisses her forehead. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I will,” she grins, then turns to look at Eddie, eyes narrowed.

Eddie gulps. She grins, scary as anything, and whispers something in his ear that has him paling. “Yuh-yep. Yeah. Got it. Thanks Robin.”

Steve grimaces when she walks away. “What did she say?”

Eddie looks at him for a long minute. “Something I’ve known for a while now,” he eventually murmurs. 

It was inevitable, really, that they would end up back here, hands in hair and under shirts, stumbling into Steve’s apartment, panting into each other’s mouths, trying to undo buckles by memory because the worst thing in the world right now would be to stop kissing.

“God, Steve,” Eddie gasps, pulling him down the hall. “C’mon- c’mon, please, need you, need you-”

“Yeah,” Steve answers against his mouth, just as affected. He’s got his own pants halfway off, thinking about his shirt next, thinking about the lube in the drawer that hasn’t gotten as much action as it used to, and suddenly he aches for it. “Need you inside me,” he mutters, kissing down Eddie’s neck, stopping at a place behind his ear that he knows from experience makes Eddie’s knees weak.

“Fuck,” Eddie chokes out. “Yeah, yeah, c’mon, c’mon baby, lemme in you- lube’s in the drawer?”

Steve opens the drawer in answer, roots around until his fingers close on the bottle. Pushes it into Eddie’s hand, pushes him away so Steve can get naked.

Eddie’s eyes rake along his body. He drops his own pants just as fast, limbs flying as he strips out of his shirt too, clambering onto the bed beside Steve’s hip, eyes wide and fingers shaking as he lubes up.

It’s after, when everything’s cooling and drying and becoming itchy, that Eddie’s breath wobbles. “I shouldn’t,” he mutters into Steve’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t say anything. But hell if I don’t miss you like crazy.”

Steve closes his eyes, tries to keep the tears at bay. “You’re drunk.”

“I had less than one drink.”

The tears win. “We broke up for a reason,” he whispers. “Didn’t we?”

“I was scared,” Eddie says.

“And you’re not now?”

“Only of losing you.”

Steve sobs, can’t help it, but he feels Eddie’s hot tears on his neck, too, and that somehow makes it better.

It’s the next morning, after slow, sleepy kisses and breakfast, that Steve sighs. “I never stopped loving you. I don’t think I can.”

“I don’t think I can, either.”

Steve slowly turns to look at him. “So what does that make us?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t know. All I know is it makes me yours.”

“Yours,” Steve parrots, daring to curl his fingers over Eddie’s, breath hitching when he holds on just as tight. “That sounds pretty damn good to me.”

[scoops404]

One of my tropes guilty pleasures is when character gets turn into a pet, gets taken in by their love interest and overhears a love confession they have on them.

There's a bunch on george getting turn into a cat, but not enough about dream getting turn into a dog. Add in some concern and dooming from george about dream's disappearance, and you get a fic I would eat up

What did you do to me?

Anywhere, here's your fic

[hp-fanfic-archive]

Flower War by XxTheDarkLordxX (@xx-thedarklord-xx) Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: T Word Count: 8k Podfic available here Read by: Anonymous Length: 30-60 minutes “So, I was thinking—” Neville cut off, causing Harry to peer up curiously. Neville’s eyes were narrowed on the flower, small frown marring his features. “Oh, how rude.” “What’s rude? It’s just a flower. Strange, since Malfoy sent it to me. Do you think he was cursed? I mean, it’s not like him to be nice.” Neville snorted, mouth twitching rapidly. “No, it’s not,” He agreed readily. “Malfoy sending this makes perfect sense though. The flower means, Beauty is your only attraction." Or… the one where Harry and Draco have a flower war. Their tamest fight yet to date as they trade silent insults, cutting barbs and even a few compliments sprinkled in.

[steddieunderdogfics]

The Gemini Paradigm by Paryton

@the-winged-doe

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

32,936 words, 10/10 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Season/Series 03, Canon-Typical Violence, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Multiple, POV Outsider, Hive Mind, Queer Themes, Gender Fuckery, Lesbian Robin Buckley, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Platonic Stobin, Queerplatonic Relationships, mind melded stobin, Soft Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler Has a Crush on Robin Buckley, Mutual Pining, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Past Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Getting Together, First Kiss, First Time, the steddie is endgame but ronance is not, Break Up, Canon typical bullying, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Non-Consensual Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mildly Dubious Consent, Steve Harrington Has Powers, Robin Buckley Has Powers

Summary:

The conclusion Nancy comes to, once she’s suitably pondered the mystery, is three-fold. Firstly, that her fluster and charm at meeting Robin is not entirely an outlier and might be worth exploring. Secondly, that Erica was right and there’s something very wrong with Robin and most likely with Steve too. And thirdly, if Nancy wants to learn more, she needs to observe, to gather data, to really lay out the discrepancies. For Eddie, Buckley and Harrington are everywhere now that he knows to look. And, except for those brief hours at school, they’re always together. There’s something a little bit freaky about them. Something in the way they move, their synchronicity. They almost look like twins from the right angle, like the creepy little girls from The Shining, and Eddie has to remind himself that they aren’t. There’s something to them, though, something weird. And he wants to know more. The ‘truth serum’ has some unexpected side effects. Steve and Robin learn to live entirely entwined, and the rest of Hawkins learns to deal with it. But mostly, two boys fall in love and two girls try to do the same.

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @the-winged-doe. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

[incorrect-in-other-lands-quotes]

Luke: My kink is doing jock stuff and watching Elliot speed-run the five stages of grief as he realises that he still wants to date me.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

After the Horse Has Bolted

Fandom: My Lady Jane Pairing: Jane x Guildford Rating: T Word Count: 1899

Summary: Though they escaped execution, Guildford continues to struggle with his transformations and, worse, with dreams of losing Jane. A frank conversation with Susannah might help more than he expects it to.

He loves her like this, watching her move about the camp at twilight. She isn't the only person here with medical knowledge, and she lacks the experience to deal with more severe battle wounds, and some of the Ethians are steadfastly distrustful, but there are enough willing to let Jane close, and enough minor wounds, and, generally, enough patients to go around. Her skills are badly needed.

As Jane tends to people, Guildford feels a bit useless. Though he did try to help, he quickly realized it was all too unfamiliar for him to be of much use. Besides, these people don't extend the same welcome to him as they do Jane. He doesn't have her bedside manner, he supposes. Fuck them for finding him slightly jumpy and suspicious after one of their own (technically, one of his own, but fuck) attempted to murder him with iron manacles. But he thinks this without heat. These people are their allies—almost their only allies—and he's trying to see what Jane sees.

Mostly, he just likes seeing Jane. Jane in the early morning, scavenging in the woods for medicinal plants. Jane winning over strangers by sitting at their side to cut the thread of their stitches with her teeth instead sitting on the throne to sign a document they may never feel the benefit of. Jane alive. Guildford hasn't told her yet that he sees her differently when he closes his eyes. He sees her pristine white dress across the square, the black strip that blinds her. In his dreams, he watches helplessly as she kneels and the axe swings down. That's when he wakes up screaming her name.

Yeah, maybe that's another reason these people feel a little uneasy around him.

Except Susannah. Susannah's been marvellous. They've sort of met before—him below the stairs with the beautiful woman he would next see walking up the aisle of a church, her rushing down those stairs to warn Archer about the guards, then the night of the attempted assassination outside the old Ethian camp—but Susannah makes more of their acquaintance than it really is. She does it so the others will trust him, because they clearly trust her. They listen to her. It isn't long before Guildford learns it was Susannah who mustered the rescue party that saved his and Jane's lives, though he suspects as much even before it's confirmed. He sees their bond. He's grateful for it.

How grateful though, is the thing, when Susannah plonks herself down on the log where Guildford's seated, and follows his eyes, smirking to catch him gazing at Jane.

"D'you ever let your wife ride you?"

He can't look at her as he responds, "Just the once, escaping execution."

"Ah, y'know that's not what I mean."

"No, I don't know that," Guildford says stubbornly.

Susannah hunches forward and catches his eye.

"How come you're blushin' then?"

"Piss off."

"No."

He looks at her, and she's grinning. While Jane was raised a lady and Susannah supported herself in service, Guildford's found them to be cut from a very similar cloth. They're both unflinchingly bold when they want to be. Cautious, at other times, but not timid. Not everyone can tell the difference. He's been learning Jane, and is beginning to know Susannah, and he can tell she's teasing him for a reason. It might be friendly, or a protective test of Jane's husband's mettle, or something else. Whatever it is, Guildford realizes he's probably better off not trying to shut her out. They're persistent, these two women.

"Want to know why I'm asking?" Susannah prompts.

"I'm guessing you'll tell me."

"Very good!" She shifts closer and lowers her voice. "It's 'cause I've heard you screamin' your feckin' head off the last three nights."

"And you thought Jane was responsible?"

"Yeah, I hoped she was ridin' you like there's no tomorrow. Two reasons for that. You want 'em?"

"Terrific," Guildford says flatly.

"One," Susannah says, holding up a finger to show the count, "because back when Jane and I lived under the same roof, I was beginning to have serious concerns that she was never gonna let herself enjoy herself. It was a virgin you took to your marriage bed, Guildford, no question."

"You are nosy, aren't you?" He scowls at her, but Susannah stares back, unfazed.

"It's the same for her with me. If your hair wasn't curled already, she'd have stories to tell you that'd do the job."

"Please just get to your second reason."

Susannah sighs.

"If it's not Jane, somethin's troublin' you, and it can't go unaddressed. We can't have that. You'll either attract trouble to our camp or somebody already livin' in it'll stab you themselves to keep you quiet. Probably your wife."

Guildford sags. He knows she's right—the last thing he wants to be is a liability. He doesn't want to get anyone else hurt or killed. Especially Jane. Jane, who was sentenced to death for marrying him. Jane, who stood in the fire with him, the bond between them even stronger than the rope that wouldn't split. She would die for him. Without question, without thought, without hesitation. But he wouldn't survive getting her killed.

Susannah has fallen silent, apparently waiting for him to suggest a solution. Guildford doesn't know if this is an Ethian thing or just a Susannah thing: allowing that the person with the problem probably knows themselves best. He thinks it's likely that she's wrong in his case, believing himself the picture of stunted self-knowledge and repressed memories. He takes a deep breath. He can't be that man anymore. It doesn't do anyone any good, himself included.

"I keep dreaming she was executed. You and the Ethians don't come, and I can't get free of the ropes, and I see her beheaded." His own throat feels painfully thick as he forces the words out.

"I can see why that'd be botherin' you."

"It nearly happened," Guildford agrees.

"That's not why. I don't think it's about Jane."

"Of course it is!"

But Susannah's shaking her head.

"It's not her who's powerless, it's you. In the dream, you're tethered. Outside the dream, what is it you feel you can't control?"

Slowly, Guildford understands what she's getting at. He answers, "My transformation. My Ethianism." He narrows his eyes at Susannah. "You're very insightful."

"I'm not, actually. You just have a very straightforward problem: mental impotence. See it all the time in men. Tragic affliction."

He catches sight of her smirk and wants to shove her off the log.

"Have the two of you been able to fuck since the near-execution, by the way?" Susannah asks.

"Thank you for the advice, doctor," Guildford says sarcastically, head cocked to one side, "but that is really none of your concern. Try meddling in your own relationship."

"What relationship would that be?"

He frowns.

"Are you and Archer not...?"

"Archer?!" Susannah catches herself and continues more softly. "In his dreams. Not to be insensitive," she adds, making Guildford roll his eyes. "But no, definitely not. Trust me, if he'd been lucky enough to have me in his bed, he wouldn't have been lookin' at..."

It's far too obvious that Susannah has just caught herself again, but Guildford's glad she did. His trust in his wife is absolute. That doesn't mean he would appreciate Archer attempting to come between them. He rises, deciding to forget Archer and focus on Jane.

"Try the sex thing," Susannah says on their parting. "It might help, is all!"

"Try the minding your own business thing!"

Guildford actually does plan on trying something thanks to this conversation, but it's not sex. (Yet. Later? Gods, yes.)

He doesn't try to sleep that night, not yet. He lies on his back in the dark, listening to the low murmur of conversation from the lookouts tending the campfire, to the sound of his own even breathing. He stares up at the trees, their shapes black against the blue-black night. Sometimes, he stares past them at the stars.

Before dawn, Guildford gently rouses Jane from where she sleeps beside him. Between treating the injured and being startled awake by his screams, she hasn't been getting as much rest as she needs, but he hopes she'll understand. Taking her hand, he leads her to a clearing a short distance from the camp. Someplace they'll be able to see the sky change colour ahead of sunrise. They walk with soft steps. The yawn Jane can't stifle has the round, open notes of birdsong. Soon, real birds begin to sing. He wonders whether any Ethians are among them.

Gradually, everything brightens.

"Stand here," Guildford says, taking Jane's hands in his plea, then dropping them and backing off to a safe distance.

She doesn't argue. He's told her about his mother.

Before the light of day can rush across the horizon, Guildford closes his eyes and concentrates. There's no risk of imminent death to compel him now. He has to know if he can do it anyway. Instead of resisting thoughts of the past, he permits himself to recall how it feels to change, concentrating until the sensation is alive in him. Instead of disconnecting from the present, he inhales the earthy scent of the forest, shifts his boots on the ground, knows without looking that Jane is standing where he left her, waiting for him, trusting him.

He changes just before daybreak.

In this form, his hearing is keener, keen enough to pick up Jane's quiet gasp from across the clearing. His own steady breathing expands his strong lungs, drawing in details of his environment that are beyond his human senses. What he likes best is Jane's smile as she approaches him, the soothing strokes of her hands on his face. He stands there on four legs, enjoying her gentle touch and the heat of the sun on his flank, then, closing his eyes to the world once more, Guildford changes back.

He's stumbling forward into Jane's arms before he realizes he never moved away from her before trying to transform. Obviously, his human form is smaller and therefore less of a hazard, but Guildford isn't convinced that was the ruling instinct. It felt more like... he just knew he could do it. He was sure of himself, in that body and in this one, and in whatever he is during the fleeting moment in between.

"Guildford! How did you do that?" she demands, full of awe and urgent curiosity. "I haven't seen you control it since the night we escaped the Tower!"

Yes, that's true. After bearing her away from that place, he turned back into a man. That's how he was when the Ethians found them, and how he remained through the night. At dawn, he despaired, once again becoming a horse against his will. It persisted. Day, horse. Night, man. The terrible dreams. This morning has been Guildford's first time taking the reins, so to speak. It's a colossal relief, and he looks lovingly into Jane's eyes, knowing she understands that much, even if she can't yet explain the rest.

It seems to him that the best words to say are, "I've always wanted to kiss you at daybreak."

"That's a lot of effort for a kiss," Jane observes.

"Then you'd better make it worth it," he retorts with a grin.

And he holds her, and she does.

[merlinfic]

Five Times Someone Else Acknowledged Merlin's Status (And The Time Merlin Realized It Wasn't What He Thought)

Author: SomehowSnake

Rating: T

Setting: Canon

Word Count: 1,390

Summary:

Everyone knows Merlin gets special treatment, except for, apparently, Merlin himself.

Thanks to @somehowsnakesblog for the rec!

[some-pers0n]

I wonder if people on Tumblr and Ao3 are just allergic to tagging their stuff, particularly when it comes to graphic and smutty stuff. There's literally no downsides to tagging it. People like me get to filter them out and live the rest of our lives without whatever it is whilst the people who want it can easily search and find it. Wow, it's almost as if tags are that simple and easy to implement and exist for a reason

[pango-doots]

Y'know looking back on my time in the NSR fandom it's weird how victimized people tend to make the NSR elites, which I really don't think is warranted beyond Sayu's team and Yinu who are MINORS that were employed into a fascist government system under the guise of success. Yes, NSR was a fascist government, or at the very least an authoritarian hand over a dystopian society.

Even if its general tone is light-hearted and silly, the game tackles themes of propaganda, scapegoating, wealth inequality and planned obsolescence, environmental destruction, media control, saving face for tourists, authoritative voting and more, yet most of them aren't the player's main gameplay focus; a lot of lore and context clues are in the background like the town's layout, interacting with certain objects and talking to NPCs. But those themes are a core message of the game and by only treating the members of NSR as regular old musicians you take out all the nuance.

(Plenty more under the cut. TL;DR: No Straight Roads is a relevantly socio-political game and I wish fans would utilize that side of the characters more)

Both halves of the "music war" as I'm gonna call it for lack of an official term had their faults, and I do like that there is no 100% right or wrong side; no straight road, if you will. BUT ALSO. BBJ realized the entire city was suffering in some way under NSR's leadership and had nothing to lose by challenging the status quo (they literally live in a fucking sewer, I'd be full of rage too). They didn't benefit from initial fame, wealth, or military protection like NSR did; not to mention they were also egged on and decieved by one of their closest allies. When voices don't work ala DK West's attempt, then you turn to action. Action can include smacking the shit out of government officials, as a treat (I enjoyed every second trying to get an S rank in Supernova's level <3)

On that note, the woobification is ESPECIALLY bad with DJSS, Neon J and 1010. I love the silly object heads and smexy robots as much as anyone else but they are specifically meant to be critiques of self-absorbed billionaires (sorry to tell DJSS fans this but he's supposed to be Elon-Musk-adjacent) and the k-pop industry with its military involvement, plus the use of militial force to keep rowdy citizens in line. I'm begging people to PLEASE handle them with more care.

Thankfully, it's clear that NSR reduces its chokehold by the end of the game and all the artists put in a lot of work to improve thanks to BBJ's push. Whether the game's writers made that decision to appeal to their own government's approval or was a genuine end to the story, I like that Tatiana has a moment of reflection and does a complete 180 to make the city better in the end (beyond the threat of the city being destroyed ofc). Even if it's unrealistic, it's a hopeful message and shows that anyone can be corrupted by the right circumstances.

Just PLEASE don't forget the characters' actions and choices along the way for the sake of ship fics and cute art. There's a lot of complexity and angst you can add to the characters with that authoritarian history!

[jayvik-ao3]

Mother Tongue

by nightlilly

Rated T, 5.2k words, complete

Tags: Explicit Language, Suggestive Themes, Getting Together, Misunderstandings, First Kiss

Summary:

Viktor knows how to speak Zaunite. Jayce also knows how to speak Zaunite. Viktor does not know that Jayce knows how to speak Zaunite.

[seaofolives]

🎭 #torokatober2024 day 12/31: pierrot 🎻

Even the bed creaks stutter with Quatre’s hips, the pressure between his straddled legs bursting in waves. This is where he usually screams.

He doesn’t. The circus grounds are so quiet, and this is their last night together before Trowa goes on tour to the farthest cluster known to man.

Trowa brings him down to his feverish chest, turning them on their sides on his narrow bed, in his cramped tent.

Quatre strokes the glitters on his cheek from tonight’s makeup. He’ll miss him.

Trowa kisses him deeply, his tongue and his hips moving again.

Quatre sighs, his toes curling.

find the list of prompts here!

[lemonadeslice]

sketches i made while playing the forest of drizzling rain remake. if you missed out on this one during the early 2010s horror rpg renaissance, i am insisting that you buy the new version on steam. you deserve a treat.

[otterandterrierwrites]

While sorting out expired meds at the Falcon, Leia has a question about a mystery pill, which prompts a discussion about Han's past—and his future.

(Is this my last fic of the year? It might be!)