#this is a setup fic

[itseghost]

i almost want to do an expression sheet for him so i force myself to expand past his rbf. but its so easy and fun to draw him with one

[pnfc]

assorted bits from historical australia au that was inspired by an old textpost. and also by 1800s naturalist lit on platypuses and other fauna

something like: charlene cajoled roger into letting heinz have a light sentence and he ultimately takes up naturalist studies. but ultimately he doesnt get credited for any of his work, and ends up unanimously blacklisted from the research community for being too much of a freak. like theyve all already figured out the secrets of the platypus but he's hung up on one particular specimen and refuses to kill him or any others to send back home for further dissection, what's up with that?

[crowwwzy]

Dating a super famous rockstar probably won‘t have any consequences, right? …RIGHT??

(Closeup and color-variations under the cut)

[landinrris]

Football AU: In which Carlos is a Premier League football player and Lando is his long-term boyfriend who owns a pottery business.

[such-expensive-mistakes]

Superpham AU (part 4)

Original prompt + parts 1-3

Masterpost

-----

It's not the most awkward dinner Lois has ever had, but only because she's dined with literal supervillains before.  

Danny is poking at his Mongolian beef with his fork more than he's actually eating it.  Lois can hardly blame him; it’s been a difficult few days for her and she’s not the one who just landed in a different dimension from the one she grew up in.  But Danny certainly isn’t up to keeping conversation going.

Jon is making a valiant effort, but he seems distracted.  He keeps shooting looks at Lois and Clark when he thinks they’re not looking, and while he recounts everything he and Damian got up to (not too much trouble, thankfully, although that wasn’t saying much), he’s less enthusiastic than he would normally be.  

Clark keeps shooting Jon worried looks when he thinks Jon isn’t looking.  Lois will have to ask him how that conversation went; it seems like it was rough on both of them. 

Eventually, even Jon runs out of things to say, and the four of them sit around the table, eating their Chinese takeout in silence.  

“So, Danny,” Lois finally says.  “I don’t know how the dimension you grew up in differs from this one, but if you have any questions about anything, please ask one of us.”

“It’s not that different,” Danny says.  “I mean, it is in some ways, but it’s still Earth, you know?”

Lois isn’t entirely certain she does, but this doesn’t seem to be the time to ask.  Maybe when things are less fresh.

Jon has no such compunctions.  “What’s the biggest difference?” 

Danny looks thoughtful.  “You guys have a lot of superheroes here,” he finally says.

“What kind of superheroes did your other world have?” Jon asks eagerly.  

“We mostly didn’t,” Danny says.  “I mean, I guess Phantom kind of counts.  But that’s it.”

“That’s it?” Jon is clearly flabbergasted by this.  Lois fights a smile, and she can see Clark doing the same thing.  Jon has never known a world without the Justice League, but she and Clark can both remember when superheroes were much, much rarer.

“Most people probably wouldn’t even count Phantom,” Danny says.  “The kids mostly did, but a lot of adults didn’t trust him because he was… because he wasn’t exactly human.”

Combined with what Danny said before about that interdimensional portal, this is painting a picture Lois really doesn’t like.

“There are folks like that everywhere, unfortunately,” Clark says.  “And you can’t always change their minds. But I believe most people are better than that."

Judging by Danny's expression, he wasn't entirely convinced of that. Lois couldn't blame him; she has enough trouble seeing the good in people the way Clark did, and the other dimension sounds worse than hers in this regard.  

Danny doesn’t seem inclined to talk about it any further.  Silence lingers for just a beat too long before he speaks.  “Oh, the sun’s yellow here.  That’s different, too.”

-----

The front door slams, shaking the house, and Jon scrambles into the kitchen.  

“Where’s Ma and Pa?” he demands.

Kon mentally says goodbye to his tentative plans for the day.  Not that he minds hanging out with Jon, but he’s clearly upset about something.  Kon’s good at a lot of things, but emotional conversations is not one of them.

“They’re in town for the day,” Kon says.  “You’re lucky they didn’t hear you slam the door like that.”

“Did you know about Danny?” Jon demands.

“Who?”

“Dan-El.”

Clark texted a couple of days ago, telling Kon to call when he had time.  Kon has been putting it off, knowing that Clark has better ways of getting in touch with him if there’s a real emergency.  That’s starting to seem like a mistake.

He doesn’t answer Jon right away, which Jon seems to take as its own answer.  

“Did everyone know but me?” Jon demands.

The thing is, Kon is pretty sure he's not supposed to know about Dan-El. Lois and Clark have never breathed a word about him in Kon's hearing.

He only knows because he spent an afternoon helping Ma go through some old boxes up in the attic and found a box of photos-- mostly of Clark as a kid, but some of Ma and Pa when they were younger.

"Oh goodness," Ma had said, when she'd notices what Kon was looking at. "I keep telling myself I'm going to organize those and put them in an album, but I never get around to it."

She'd sat down next to Kon and looked through the pictures with him, pointing out her favorites and telling stories to accompany them. ("And that one was from just after Clark's tenth birthday-- we had to get a new door because his strength was just coming in and he broke the old one.")

Then Kon had pulled out a photo of a toddler, sitting on the front porch with Pa. He'd thought it was a picture of Clark at first, but Pa's hair was considerably more gray than it was in the pictures from Clark's childhood, and Ma had just told him that the porch had been rebuilt and expanded after Clark broke the old one in tenth grade.

"Oh, that's Daniel," Ma said. She'd gently taken the photo from Kon's hand and ran a finger over not-Clark's face. "He was our first grandson-- Lois and Clark's oldest." She'd gone on to tell him the whole sad story.

There's a small headstone for Daniel Kent in the Smallville cemetery, right next to Pa's parents. Kon thinks it must have been Ma or Pa's idea; there was no body to bury and as far as he knows, Lois and Clark never visit it.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Kon says.  “I think it’s just not something they talk about.”  Jon doesn’t look convinced, so he adds, “They told you now, right?”

“Only after he showed up!” 

“Wait, what?”  Kon is starting to think he really should have replied to that message from Clark.

-----

Not for the first time, Clark wishes there was a handbook for this sort of thing.  But oddly enough, parenting manuals generally don’t cover how to talk to your long-lost son about his alien heritage.  He’s put this off long enough already; Danny had spent most of the previous day out with Lois, picking up all the necessities he didn’t have.

“So…” Danny says, kicking his feet a little.  He’s sitting next to Clark on this skyscraper, his feet dangling over the edge.  It makes Clark a little nervous, seeing how Danny can’t fly yet, but he also knows he’s fast enough to catch Danny if he were to fall.

"Lois said you're an alien?" The words are softened by the blatant curiosity in Danny's tone, and Clark remembers Lois recounting how excited Danny was to meet J'onn and to see space from the Watchtower. 

It's a sentiment Clark can understand. He's traveled through space and met aliens both hostile and friendly. He regularly meets with his colleagues on an orbiting space station. And yet, seeing his adopted planet from space still fills him with awe.

"When I was born, my parents— my birth parents— already knew our planet, Krypton, was dying," Clark begins. It's not an easy story to tell, but the grief is old. Not gone, but distant. It's a place and a people he will never know except through stories and the archives in the Fortress— but those, at least, he can share. He tells Danny this, too, and promises to take him to the Fortress soon. It would be easier if Danny could fly, but he'll make it work. 

"You should talk to Kara, too," Clark adds. 

"Who's Kara?"

"My cousin. Right now she's in space, on a Justice League mission, but you'll meet her when she gets back. She was a teenager when Krypton was destroyed; she has firsthand memories."  He’ll save explaining the part where she got caught in suspended animation for later; he’s dumped a lot of information on Danny already.

“You said something the other night about yellow sun radiation?” Danny asks.

“It’s what gives Kryptonians our power, here on Earth,” Clark says.  

“And what powers are those, exactly?” Danny seems more hesitant than Clark would usually expect of a teenager finding out he’s going to develop superpowers— but then, they already know Danny grew up in a world where that sort of thing was feared and looked down upon.  

“Enhanced sense, enhanced strength and speed, flight, invulnerability— there are others, but those are the main ones to expect.”

Danny nods thoughtfully.

[tswwwit]

If I can finish this one scene and slap the draft around a bit, I think I'm gonna split this fic in half and post the first bit on AO3. Wish me luck.

[raviola-triggers]

He stayed in the shrine with Miko after the second betrayal

[omo321]

“Are you crying?” Fina exclaims in alarm. Tsurumi is equally startled when he wipes at his face and his hand comes away wet. Not once had he shed tears, not even when he’d lost them. Pulling a chair up to him, Fina dries his cheeks with soft dabs of her handkerchief. With her hand on his shoulder and her beautiful, bright eyes soft with more love than Tsurumi can bear, she waits for an explanation that he cannot give.

gnawing on "theatre" by Saengak again... it's free serotonin to me

[firstelevens]

Bucky + Realization of feelings at the Worst Possible Moment for the Situation(TM) prompts if you like! 🤗

45. realization of feelings at the worst possible moment

every in-canon version of this that I attempted to write made me So Sad so instead here's an extreme canon divergence that answers a question that I asked in the tags of a gifset back in November of 2021: MR AND MR SMITH AU WHEN?

Bucky is choosing to blame Steve for this.

There are probably others who are more directly at fault. Natasha feels pretty high up on that list, as does Bucky himself. But Nat is too smug to argue with, and Bucky’s blame roster is already pretty full, so he’s decided that this one can be Steve’s fault.

It’s not even that much of a stretch, really: it’s Steve who stumbled onto him while raiding what the Avengers hadn’t realized was a secret HYDRA facility, and it’s Steve who decided to defrost Bucky instead of leaving well enough alone. Steve’s the reason why Bucky ended up where he is, leading a team of technically-reformed criminals on off-the-books missions that Nick Fury deems too high profile for the Avengers, which means that Steve is the reason why, four years ago, Nick Fury sat Bucky down and told him that his lack of a social life and generally menacing demeanor were going to blow his cover any day now.

At the time, Bucky had offered to go fully off the grid, all the better to prep for missions, but Fury had just frowned at him and flatly said, “Or you could just get yourself a goddamn date.”

Part of Bucky had been convinced that it was a joke or some kind of test, but then it had been made clear to him that he would be on desk duty until he did something to shore up his cover identity. It had seemed like pure serendipity when Natasha had wandered in from a mission the next day and had a solution ready as soon as Bucky had bitched about Fury’s ultimatum over a sparring session.

“I know a guy,” she’d said to him. “Ex-military but now he’s an analyst with one of the alphabet agencies.”

“I’ll pass,” Bucky had replied, just barely dodging the roundhouse she’d aimed at his head. “I do enough espionage at work; I don’t need to go home and lie to a civilian about who I am, too.”

“That’s the best part,” Nat had said then, a gleam in her eye. “You wouldn’t have to lie.”

She’d explained, then, that this friend of hers kind of needed a cover story, too. Something about a three year waitlist for an exclusive apartment building, and fine print on the contract heavily implying that unmarried applicants would be rejected. Pretending to marry a stranger had seemed like a bit much just to secure an apartment, but then Nat had pulled up the building’s website on her phone, and Bucky knew just enough about what real estate was like these days to understand why someone might be driven to desperation for a place like that.

Bucky could claim not to know what drove him to say yes, but he’s sure it’s written as plainly on his face now as it had been back then. Sam Wilson had walked through the door, smiled exactly once, and pulled Bucky into his orbit without even trying.

It had been an astonishingly good four years. He and Sam had gone from polite roommates doing each other a favor—Bucky’s cover story had been tailored to the background check he ran on Sam, something about unexpectedly needing a new place to live and the specific requirements of being a veteran—to genuinely being friends. Aside from the one lie of omission, where Bucky had strategically avoided bringing up that he was a formerly brainwashed, hundred year old super soldier who now led an elite spy team, he got to be himself around Sam. Months into their arrangement, it became clear that Sam got to be himself around Bucky, too.

There was room in their apartment for his persistent low-grade grouchiness, and for Sam’s shocking-even-to-Bucky’s-40s-sensibilities collection of vinyl records, and even for the tiny white cat who they’d found shivering in a cardboard box one winter by the grocery store and immediately brought home. He never could have even considered a pet before, but Alpine had been the undisputed queen of their place for two years now, and when missions took Bucky away from home, Sam was there to keep her company. 

He’d even be willing to bet that she likes Sam better by now, but if that’s true, it’s hard to blame her. Bucky has spent the past year increasingly unable to ignore the warmth that settles in his chest when he unlocks the apartment to find Sam curled up on the couch, frowning at his tablet like it personally wronged him. It always takes Sam an extra half-second to realize that Bucky is in the room, and then he smiles just like he did that very first day, and Bucky is a goner for it every time.

It took a particularly harrowing mission to nudge Bucky out of being a coward. He’d been trapped under a collapsed building somewhere outside Prague, smoke filling the air with no sign of help on its way, and when Bucky had closed his eyes in defeat, all he’d been able to think of was Sam and Alpine on that couch, waiting for him to come home.

He’d flown back stateside, taken an extra couple of days to heal up from his injuries, and made his plans to tell Sam everything tonight. 

Bucky has already picked up dessert from the tiny French spot in Dupont Circle that Sam pretends not to love, and there’s an absurdly big flower arrangement that will be ready for Bucky to pick up just as soon as he gets out of whatever meeting was so urgent and secret that it had to be held after all personnel had left the building for the night.

In the elevator on the way up, Yelena mentions a team from a different agency, something about a joint operation to protect a recently turned asset, even though reformed agents are very clearly Bucky’s team’s jurisdiction.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Bucky, as they step out of the elevator. “If they wanted us to play nice, they should have thought about that before elbowing their way onto our turf.”

Yelena makes a noise of acknowledgment and opens the door to the conference room. As soon as she does, Bucky is instantly aware of two things.

One: there is a very small baby in the room, swaddled in a green blanket and fast asleep.

Two: Bucky’s husband is in the room, cradling the baby in his arms and gently swaying. It is the first time ever that it hasn’t taken him an extra half-second to notice Bucky walking through the door.

Bucky feels all the air leave his lungs and can’t remember how to get it back. He’s certain that he looks as shocked as he feels.

He can’t help but notice that Sam, on the other hand, doesn’t.

“Agent Barnes, Agent Belova,” says Fury. “I’d introduce you to Agent Wilson, but I think it might be a little late for that.”

[prince-liest]

I have radiostatic on the mind and am trying to remind myself that if a few hundred words a day is all I have the spoons for then it's still progress! +^+

[somanypetals]

just a theatre kid and her guard dog

[oflights]

wip snip 5.1

i've been tagged a bunch of times over the past few weeks to post wip snips and only had the last few chapters of star splitter to post, so i bailed. i finally have something new to preview!! have a bit of the gilmore girls fic, still in progress. 🥰

Just about 8 years ago, the bell over the doorframe jingled violently as Draco Malfoy threw the door open and swept in, already talking. “Bloody hell, that snow is abominable,” he was saying. He hefted a bundled, starfish-shaped form that would turn out to be a toddler by his hip, a pram scooting behind them and leaving a wet trail on Harry’s floor. With a flick of his wrist, the pram had folded up and nestled in the corner of the dining area, dripping there ignored, as Draco descended upon the counter much the same as he did almost every day.

“You, there—please tell me this place has something warm to—” And then Draco froze, because back then he had not done this every day; this was the first time, and more specifically the first time he had seen Harry Potter in the flesh since their eighth year of Hogwarts.

“Malfoy,” Harry had said, eyeing the puffy bundle warily. He didn’t know it was a toddler then; every bit of Scorpius was covered up and radiating Warming Charms. In hindsight, he was probably sweating, but Harry was to later learn that Scorpius had been a quite agreeable child until he learned to read—an apparent mistake that Draco despairs of having made a few times a week—and he made no complaints even dropped onto a stool as he was, propped up against his father.

“What are you doing here?” Draco, then Malfoy, had demanded. He looked utterly thrown and somehow offended, as if Harry’s existence in his own place of business was a grave insult to him.

“This is my place,” Harry said, and then as an instinctive response to Draco’s disbelieving scoff, he added, “I own it.” He’d hoped Draco would pick up on the implied threat—don’t be an arse or I’ll kick you out.

...

“This place is called Al’s,” Draco said accusingly. “You’re not Al.”

“Nope, I’m not. I’m Harry.” When Draco stared at him, Harry clarified, “Harry Potter.”

“I know you’re—who is Al, then?” Draco went pale beneath his winter flush. “Wait. Did you name this place after—Dumbledore?” He whispered the name as if ashamed, and Harry supposed that was about right, though it garnered him little sympathy.

Harry let that dread sit on Draco’s face for a few moments before he said, “No, it was already called Al’s when I bought it. Didn’t feel like changing the name.” He had changed everything else about it, though, spending one exhausting summer converting it from a pub no one really liked to go to anymore to a greasy spoon that people liked much more.

...

Harry had not opened this place and kept it open so he could be insulted and bullied; he was long past the time in his life when he would accept that, especially from the likes of Draco Malfoy. And so he opened his mouth once again to tell Draco to get out—ignoring all the questions he had for him, like what he was doing in this town, out in the snowstorm, carrying some sort of doll, maybe?

Before he could say so, and even before Draco could interrupt, the doll made a noise that made Harry startle and drop the rag he’d been wiping down the counter with. The doll made another noise, reached out, and grabbed the rag.

“Mine!” the doll said, lifting its head until a nose poked out of its bundling. That was when Harry realized that what Draco had set down on the stool was a toddler.

“Not yours,” Draco said as Harry tried to process this. “Let it go, Scorpius, it’s disgusting!”

“Oh,” said Scorpius, in a very wobbly sort of voice. His head tipped up so much that Harry could now see wide eyes, which were a complex hazel shade that made him really start to wonder what Draco was doing with a toddler. Said eyes were glistening slightly, and to accompany the look, Scorpius said, “Okay,” in the saddest little voice Harry had ever heard. He dropped the rag back on the counter; he could barely move his arm in his heavy, puffy coat.

“He can have it,” Harry said quickly; he grabbed up the rag and tried to hand it back, unable to deal with that stricken face.

[ping-ski]

ngl i dont blame PMH Sun, i'd romance the FUCK outta the princess too like... i am NOT immune to royal charms and whimsy

if i heard the princess sing, i'd be GIGGLING. TWIRLING MY HAIR. KICKING MY FEET??? like WHAT.

[trashmammal-7]

Starting the second season of your sci-fi show with "Spock is so horny he might die" is quite possibly the funniest fucking thing I've witnessed in Star Trek so far.

[kiirotoao]

I find it so interesting how Mike uses “dude” and “man” with Will whenever they’re fighting. One the one hand, it could just be Mike’s reflex emphasizers when he’s upset, but then when you look at the context of Mike and Will when they’re fighting so pointedly about each other and the underlying romantic pushes and pulls, it’s strange, because it seems like Mike is overcompensating for that romantic tension and trying to explicitly frame Will as his friend, and… it just makes me think.

[graveposting]

me when

me hwhen the------

the brainworms-