#verse: canon-compliant.

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Birthday Hats and Outlaw Curses

Hey, people! Yes, the Denial-Verse proper is back! This story will cover episodes 8.01-8.05. I hope you enjoy this new addition to the series! 🥰

Birthday Hats and Outlaw Curses

| Pairing: BuckTommy | Rated: M | WC: 25K | Chapters: 6/11 |

Summary: After spending months at his boyfriend Evan "Buck" Buckley's apartment recovering from his helicopter crash and fallen tree injuries, Tommy Kinard has recovered enough to go back to work.

Excerpt:

“‘You Didn’t Die!’ That’s the banner you went with?” snorted Tommy, not sure what he was expecting. But. It wasn’t as if he was surprised by the choice. “What? You’re chuckling. You just snorted! I knew you’d like it,” said Lucy, grinning as she handed Tommy a slice of a cake shaped like a fallen down tree. It was a honey cake with dark chocolate rings of buttercream and icing that looked like tree bark and leaves. It did look strikingly like the tree that had fallen on Tommy and Tommy wondered how they got that just right. And. Okay. Yes, Tommy was chuckling. “Yeah. I like this whole party,” said Tommy, because he liked gallows humor. “Your boyfriend suggested the cake place. They do a lot of specialty cakes. I mean. Dicks mostly, I assume, but also cakes shaped like other things, as you can see by the tree,” said Melton, “Your boyfriend actually helped with a lot of the coordination of this welcome back party. He’s kind of scary.”

READ THE REST ON AO3!

[legobiwan]

Mario and Luigi for the drabble, “When I’m with you, I’m home.”

Thanks!

I realized I'm answering this one out of order. Whoops! Anyway, have some pre-Mushroom Kingdom conversations and lore-building as your author reminisces about the New York of the '90s.

~~~~~~

He wonders, sometimes, what their lives would have looked like if they had never left Brooklyn.

Barring a miracle - pretty bleak, in all honesty. Maybe being here, in the Mushroom Kingdom, was the miracle. He remembers the frenzied few days leading up to their disappearance. The previous few months had been a mess of unpaid bills and awful business decisions governed solely by spite and fear. They were probably a few months of missed rent payments away from eviction. They were definitely two days away from getting their kneecaps bashed in by some loan shark’s goons. 

He and Mario had gone for a walk, all the way down to Coney Island, 75th to Stillwell to Bowery, to the decrepit-looking Wonder Wheel and a depressingly empty Nathan’s Hot Dogs. It looked like the last of the hotels, some once-bright vestige of his mother’s era, had finally been condemned, tall wire fencing curling up towards the grey winter sky, a perfunctory guard which did nothing to keep out the local graffiti artists and homeless population. 

Luigi jammed his hands into his jean pockets, shivering. He couldn’t tell if he was freezing or terrified.

“What are we gonna do, Mario? We can’t stay here. If he doesn’t get us, the landlord will. You see how they’re starting to develop all that stuff around 86th Street. It’s going to travel north and we’re already behind two months in rent. We can’t stay in Bensonhurst.” Luigi sighed, little frozen puffs of air floating from his mouth. “I don’t even know if we can stay in Brooklyn at this rate.”

It was a miracle they weren’t out on the streets already. For once, their landlord’s habit of sitting around with a bottle of Thunderbird watching Honeymooners reruns and screaming at “that bum El Duque” to throw more strikes fell to their advantage. Sure, there was no such thing as maintenance in the dilapidated six-floor walk-up. But they were plumbers, tradesmen - a leaky faucet or misbehaving shower wasn’t going to be an issue.

Unfortunately, they weren’t also exterminators. 

Mario took a large bite of his hotdog, mustard splattering on the gum-stained sidewalk. It looked like something they’d hang in one of those trendy galleries that kept popping up in lower Manhattan, down around Houston Street. 

“We’re gonna be fine, Lou,” Mario said between bites, bits of bun falling from his mouth.

“We’re gonna end up homeless.” Or missing our kneecaps. Or worse.

Mario crammed the last of his dinner in his mouth, finishing off the hot dog with a few loud chews. He gave a contented sigh, licking at his greasy fingers before wiping his hands on his pants. “No, we’re not gonna be homeless. I’ve told you a million times, Lou, we could be in a cardboard box under the Van Wyck. When we’re together - “ Mario slung an arm around Luigi’s shoulder, pulling him in tight. “When I’m with you - I’m home. We’re unbeatable. And that means we’ll make it through this.”

Luigi eyed his brother’s yellow-tinged fingers and stained shirt cuff, hoping the impromptu moment of fraternal affection would pass. He could deal with Mario’s sunny optimism, usually. But living in a studio apartment one step up from a garbage dump had apparently encouraged his brother’s disposition towards a more slovenly existence. They might be home when they were together, but it wouldn’t hurt if Mario took a damn vacuum to himself once in a while. 

“Mario, I think this time - ”

“Oh, I get it.” The warm arm around his shoulder disappeared, his brother’s voice hardening. Luigi snapped his head to the side, his heart rocketing into his throat. What did I say this time?  

“It’s the location, isn’t it?” His brother gave him a searching, serious look. He looks just like Dad. He even seemed as if he were towering over Luigi, just like Dad used to, despite Mario being the shortest of the three of them. “You’d prefer a box under the BQE.”

Luigi gaped. “I - what?”

“Nah, nah, okay,” Mario waved his hands. “Let’s talk location. You wanna be by the Belt? Or maybe - “ A sly smile grew under his brother’s burgeoning mustache. “You want to move to Queens.”

“Oh my God,” Luigi groaned, slapping his forehead with his palm, pulling his hand down over his eyes. I’d move to Jersey if it got us out of this mess. “Mario, be serious.”

“I am serious! Your secret’s safe with me, bro. Even if you would betray Brooklyn like that." Luigi felt two steady hands take him by the biceps. “Besides, we’re gonna be okay.”

“Vinny Razzanti’s uncle said we had forty-eight hours,” Luigi groaned between his fingers.

Mario barked out a laugh. “Vinny Razzanti’s uncle couldn’t tell a pizza from a clock if we arranged the pepperonis the right way. The guy’s a dumbass.”

“Yeah, but he’s - “

“No, I ain’t hearing it.” Mario gently guided Luigi’s hands from his face, keeping his fingers wrapped around either wrist as he brought Luigi’s arms to his sides. “Look at me, Lou.”

Luigi swallowed down the wet desperation clawing its way up his throat, opening his eyes to his brother’s concerned, but steely gaze.

“If he comes, he comes. I’ve got a baseball bat next to the mattress and you can - “ Mario waved one of his arms in a broad gesture. “I dunno. Make some kind of exploding gadget or something. You used to want to show off your stuff to Cooper Union, right? Well, think of this as practice, you know, for the application.”

Luigi gave a small shake of his head. I don’t think home pyrotechnics meant to fend off low-level mafia muscle are going to impress the admissions committee. Not that they were going to waste their time with a twenty-one-year-old plumber’s application, anyway. That dream was long gone, buried in Cypress Hills along with their parents. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Mario’s voice broke through his dreary ruminations as he guided Luigi towards Bowery Street. “We’re gonna walk home, maybe pick up a cannoli on the way. Then we’re gonna check the answering machine. If we’re lucky - and I’m feeling pretty lucky right now - there will be a call from some lady in Borough Park.” His brother’s eyes gleamed. “No, even better, some widower in Carroll Gardens. One of those nice brownstones. She’s going to ask for our help. Clogged drains, backed up shower, toilet’s kablooey.” Mario made a slobbering sound meant to resemble a backed up toilet. Luigi thought he sounded like a dog on downers. “The whole shebang. We’ll say, of course, we can fix this, but we’ll have to charge the emergency rate. You know, business and all that. Three hours later - maybe four - boom! Vinny Razzanti’s uncle is out of the picture and we’ll be on our way to the good life.”

“You make it sound so simple, bro.” Luigi couldn’t quite contain the bite of sarcasm that accompanied that statement. 

As always, his brother took his waspishness in stride. Long strides, in fact, as they hurried past the metal skeletons that made up the Coney Island Train Yard, the whirr of traffic from the Belt Parkway rushing and thumping above them. Luigi felt like at any moment some old, rusted buckle would give way, sending a line of cabs and buses crashing into their heads.

He felt like that most of the time these days, to be honest. 

“It is simple, Luigi. You just gotta think positive. You never know what’s around the corner.” Mario tugged at his sleeve. “Now, come on. If we walk fast enough, we can get to Villbate’s before they close.”

“Alright, alright, you win, Mario. Something’s around the corner and for once, maybe it won’t be a guy with a baseball bat.” No. It won’t be a bat. It’ll be something worse. Like a flamethrower. Luigi was too tired to argue with his brother’s indomitable optimism. “Maybe we’ll get to your widower in Carroll Gardens and find the answers in her bathroom.”

Mario slapped his brother on the back. “That’s the spirit, Lou! Could be a whole new world waiting for us. Now let’s go - there’s a pistachio cannoli with my name on it and I am not missing out.”

“Hey, the pistachio cannolis are mine!”

“Not if you don’t run fast enough!” Mario gave his brother a playful push, taking off down Stillwell Avenue. Luigi watched his brother leap over a pile of trash bags, skittering between two cabs, one of which blared its horn in anger.

“Where you go, I guess I follow,” Luigi muttered to himself, adjusting his cap before taking off in his brother’s direction. And who knew? Maybe something was waiting for them around that corner.

[jlhynde-insanitybrilliance]

UDLTTOM WORLDBUILDING RAMBLES: American Wizarding Society vs British Wizarding Society

This is like the 3rd installment of what is quickly becoming a series of long ranting posts about the lore surrounding Harry Potter & a current time-travel au I'm writing on AO3. But you don't need to have read the previous two posts to understand this one. (I still link them for those interested: pt 1, pt 2, pt. 3.) .

I think it's been fairly established that JK doesn't have much awareness of anything outside of Britain when it comes to world building. I've seen posts discussing how unrealistic the magical schools are and such. (Which obviously there can't be just 11 schools. I refuse to believe it. It exceeds my suspension of disbelief.) But this post isn't about that, but the whole societal structure of the American Wizarding society as a whole. I recently started watching my through the Fantastic Beasts films (I know I'm late to the show.) and as an American I can't help but to address some of this...

There's a lot to address & I'm sorry if this post gets a off on some tangents. But I'm just gonna jump right in with the things that bother me most.

1)The MACUSA reeks of British colonization.

As we all know, North America wasn't unpopulated when people from Europe started arriving. Native Americans, the Mayans, the Aztecs, Inuit people, and while some of them were nomadic others had established cities & advanced communities for that day in age. It was the religious zealot Protestants, aka Puritians, being driven out of England that pushed into these communities and brought with them this harmful religious dogma and pushed these people out of the homes and their lands. Like if you read into any of these cultures and their histories, you'll see that these communities were accepting of magic and in the HP world were probably very much wizards themselves.

And so the MACUSA doesn't make sense to me having been founded before the American Revolution, but after the Salem Witch Trials because in all likelihood wizards were being persecuted long before all that. Like I can't believe that the indigenous communities wouldn't have formed some sort of collective in order to combat these foreign invaders from overseas—Especially if they were wizards.

I mean so there had to be something before that, right? Like in all likelihood what I see happening is that these British wizards pushed themselves in with the Puritians (for whatever reason) and in the process brought with them their backwards views on muggles & blood politics & classism which wasn't a part of the original society. Because if you look at the indigenous histories you'll see that medicine men/women were respected members of their communities. Wizards and Muggles lived alongside each other just fine. But then the colonizers came & ruined that harmonious dynamic between the magical and nonmagical.

And that it's called the Magical Congress of the United States of America...It doesn't make sense unless that name came about after the American Revolution. Because before that it was referred to as the 13 colonies. Then it also took some time after the American Revolution for the 13 colonies to expand into the United States. (American didn't get all 50 states until 1959 with the purchase of Alaska from Russia and the forceful occupation of Hawaii.)

It makes more sense that there was a power struggle between two or more opposing Magical governments for the control of the Americas. And this would lead to a sort of Wizarding Civil War. Between the indigenous magical communities and the British, & Spanish, & French Colonies. It's a big place, huge. & it would be diced up and divided I think much more than than the muggle/no-maj community/government is.

The MACUSA being only on the East Coast makes more sense to me. (It also explains how there can only be one wizarding school in MA.) And how that school is a sister school of Hogwarts & how they are structured so similarly. Because watching the Fantastic Beasts films I don't feel like I'm watching American wizards, it more feels like I'm watching British Wizards with American accents.

And then the rest of the country is split up into districts or regions (much like it is in real life with: East Coast, Deep South, West Coast, Midwest.) where the indigenous practices and cultures are still prevalent.

I also don't buy into this idea that France and Spain would abandon their stake on the Continent. So in reality, it's more believable that Spanish Wizards would control Florida and expand all the way up to Arkansas, French wizards would Have control of Louisiana & Mississippi, East Texas, parts of Oklahoma, the British Wizards would have the colonies & maybe parts of the Great Lakes area like Illinois or Ohio, and then the rest of North America would be divided up into different territories amongst the indigenous communities.

Which then brings me to the second thing that bothers me: Rappaport's Law.

2) Rappaport's Law is a heavy-handed allegory for Jim Crowe & Segregation Laws.

As a white person, there's a lot in this topic that I am likely under informed and underqualified to unpack. It is a subject that would be better dissected by someone who understands the cultural histories and nuances better than me. But I read up a lot on random histories (because my Adhd brain leads me down some interesting research rabbit holes & I find myself fascinated by lore histories and folktales.) And I've learned a bit about the various histories pertaining to the Trans Atlantic Slave trade and how things like Voodoo made their way to America through the enslavement of various African tribes.

And again back to the British colonization, slaves were sold to the British by rival tribes & then some of those people made their way to North America when the colonies were formed , but that there was also a significant number of slaves that were indigenous to North America as well.

But how the indigenous communities were structured and how the tribal communities were structure were not all that dissimilar from each other. They both have an awareness of magic and similar spiritual practices. Again magic coexisting with muggles and what makes the most sense was that rival tribes would in fact sell the wizards into slavery and keep the squib/no-maj members of the village because they were less of a threat.

Which in turn would lead to most of the magical communities in North America being POC. Like honestly, I think they are the majority in the Americas. And the Rappaport Law, preventing the intermingling of no-majs & wizards would be heavily criticized because of the similarities to Jim Crowe and Segregation Laws.

And you might try to argue that because of the Statute of Secrecy, wizards wouldn't have any awareness of those muggle laws. But I argue that because of Slavery and most of the wizards being either slaves or negatively impacted by the European settlers would be very, very aware of those laws and prejudices & be actively fighting against them.

Like it was wizards creating and maintaining the underground railroad. It was wizards getting other wizards out and getting them away, regardless of whether or not they were magical because they were all slaves. And they would in fact still have muggles living side-by-side with them in these magical communities and spitting in the face of the Statute of Secrecy. And entire generations of no-majs would live and die in these communities and possibly even leave these communities to assimilate with other muggles and what not, but the American wizards would not be as cut off from the no-maj world like their British counterparts are.

3) Blood Politics would never be able to take root there.

Because most of them are unable to trace back their own bloodlines. It's why Americans don't have house elves working for them because it's Slavery, which they spent centuries combating and trying to escape. And why Grindelwald couldn't gain a foothold there because he was European and was actively killing muggleborns, squibs, no-majs like that wasn't their own people.

And this would also mean that, technologically, the magical communities in North America are more advanced. They are not stagnating like they are in Britain. Wizards are not a dying breed. They have a healthy growing population and low inbreeding rates, and advancements in magic and no-maj sciences. It's the sort of strength Grindelwald and Voldemort would want to recruit for their causes, but with how the majority of the continent is structured would never be able to.

[thank you for coming to my tedtalk.]

[mimiruku]

hi! all pre-relationship for mimi & takeshi 😈🫶🏻

█     𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐱   ⸻   ( ⚝ )

╰┈┈➤    My name is Jojie & I'm excruciatingly slow for no reason, but here we go . . . finally got to this ! ( the way I was looking forward in answering this, but grass wanted to touch ME . THIS IS VERY VERY LONG, read at your own risk.

⸻ 「 ✦ LOVE ROUTE : IF YAMAMOTO TAKESHI WINS(?). ✦ 」

⸻ 01. How did they first meet? Namimori Middle School, in the classroom on a particularly sunny Monday morning. The class has long began its boring drawl, the teacher's monotonous voice droning only barely interested in the subject he is teaching. Something about a group project. Takeshi is the same, barely focus, still caught by some sleepy spell - his gaze was misty tired when he takes notice of the person seated in front of him, the remnants of summer blowing cold breeze into the classroom, his long hair cradled by the wind. Takeshi was just gonna swat it away, but he'd find his fingers tangled along the strands, weaving slightly along some stranger's hair.

Miruku turns to look at him then, blinking eyes staring curious for a moment before ultimately smiling. " No." He says and Takeshi offers a sheepish grin, " Sorry, couldn't see the blackboard." He lies. " Oh." Miruku replies, apologetic, gathering his hair to the side and along his shoulders. " So sorry." And he turns away.

The next day, Miruku sat away from him.  Unrelated to Takeshi of course.

⸻ 02. What was their first impression of each other? Miruku had no particular interest in him. A nice enough boy, he thought fairly vaguely, with a nice enough smile and nice enough voice and a nice enough face. Takeshi is easier to remember than most people. Takeshi is the same, there had been nothing to think about ; he was hardly reflective anyway, so what if he has a strange habit of follow him with his eyes?

⸻ 03. Who felt romantic feelings first?  &  04. Did either of them try to resist their feelings? Unknowingly, Takeshi. It had been a tenderness unnatural to him, he did not recognize it and it did not feel particularly comfortable either. There is a nervous edge to it, a knot in his stomach and a pleasure that provoked strange things in him, he'd rather not discuss it. He'd rather focus on things that didn't confuse and bewilder him, like Tsunayoshi, like Momina.

So it was, and against all this, he ends up dating the latter of the two he calls his best-friends. He ends up dating Momina near end of their middle school years, this is not an act of resistance, rather a cognitive choice that made sense then. She made him happy, they were friends, they were close enough for people to think they're dating, why shouldn't they?

Meanwhile, Miruku's last few months of middle school was spent happily unaware of the romantic hijinks that was about to run amok.

⸻ 05. What would their lives be like if they had never met? On a surface level, Miruku would not have taken interest in things like baseball & swords. Would not have applied as a manager for a baseball team. Would not have been as friendly to dogs. Would not have learned how to make sushi and plenty little things that simply wouldn't be part of his day to day life. There might not be much of a change, but I'm certain Miruku wouldn't be as happy, I'm certain, he'd rather experience Takeshi.

Takeshi meanwhile would have likely a more patent difference. Miruku is his growth pains. The tooth pulling and a leap of faith. There had been many things he wouldn't have done . . . Miruku has a way of pushing people out of their comfort zone it would seem, for better or for worst.

⸻ 06. What was their "flirting stage" like? Miruku does not flirt, but he is awfully ' overly friendly ' , it was easy with Takeshi, it came natural to be excessively affectionate both in words and action with him ; it's a bit virginal in a way, that he doesn't know what he is doing. ( he likes to pretend he does tho ). As for Takeshi, similarly he was particularly unaware of the lines he was crossing at first, from the time they've first met, through their adulthood his flirtation had been thinly vailed with what looks to be something chaste and modest, he is good at hiding his intentions, maybe he's just being friendly! he's always friendly! Even when later in life he has been more conscious of his actions, Miruku seems to just not understand what's going on.

Typically, if you flirt with Miruku, it would send him spiraling into disgust, in this case, Miruku was under the impression they were buddy-buddy . . . it was a miserable misread admittedly, one that foiled any advances Takeshi made.

⸻ 07. How do their friends and family feel about them as a couple? A collective sigh of relief, oh thank god. Later, one that of horror because there is such a thing as too affectionate. ( perhaps, get a room ? )

[f1uckinghell]

lots of stuff sucks atm, and I am trying to make christmas nicer for myself, so have this unashamedly self-indulgent, happy, joyful snippet. And feel free to send asks if you want. I’ll try to write some more prompt fills over the next few days as well.

_____

"Who was your first kiss?" Charles leaned back with a vixen-like smile, stirring his cocktail with a languid motion, "Come on, you can tell us now. We already know all your other secrets."

Lando felt his cheeks grow hot. "No, it's too embarrassing!" It really wasn't that bad if he was quite honest, but he just liked to put on a show for the attention.

"Aww come on, Lando!" Max's cheeks had a healthy flush, but his was caused by having half a gin and tonic. Lando giggled and hid his face in his hands until Max touched his arm with a laugh.

"What if we go first?" he suggested, and that did in fact pique Lando's attention.

"...maybe."

Charles huffed out an easy laugh. "You go first, Max."

„You already know who it was,“ Max said, giving Charles a grin. Charles narrowed his eyes at him. „Not me!“ he huffed, feigning offense.

„No, not you,“ Max agreed, „Although we can pretend it was you.“

„Who was it, then?“ Lando asked, curiously wiggling in his seat.

„Martin, my friend,“ Max said, „My neighbor from when my parents still lived together.“ Max paused dramatically, then added, „In middle school.“

It wasn’t even that funny, but they just burst out laughing anyway. „That does NOT count!“ Lando exclaimed, „You were literally a baby.“

Max was laughing into his cocktail, cheeks even more rosy than before now. Charles clicked his tongue. „Took you long enough after that to figure out you’re not as straight as your Dad wanted you to be.“

Max snorted, „Yeah, took me exactly until you had your hands on my tits for the first time.“ Charles gave him a smirk and reach out to cup Max’s chest, balancing his glass with the other hand, then leaned over to kiss him. Lando watched the wet, messy slide of their tongues against each other for a moment, before giving a needy little whine- no chance they were allowed to forget about him now.

Charles pulled back, but not without giving a sultry purr by Max’s ear. „Mine was Pierre,“ he announced, crossing his legs and hooking one of his ankle around Lando’s pulling him closer somehow.

„That’s so boring!“ Lando complained, followed by a little „Hey!“ when Charles used that same ankle to kick him lightly.

„It’s not boring, it’s romantic!“ Max objected.

„It wasn’t that romantic,“ Charles inclined his head, „We were like… thirteen maybe, and wanted to know what kissing felt like. So I kissed him, and then ran away.“

Lando and Max both aww’ed; the idea of Charles being so shy was almost absurd now.

„I can say he’s gotten a lot better at it since,“ Charles smirked, taking a sip of his cocktail.

„I sure hope so,“ Max snorted.

„Your turn now, Lando.“ Charles turned his gaze on Lando, eyes raking over his face.

Lando sighed dramatically, crossing his arms for show. „It’s boring.“

„The more you try not to say it, the more curious he will poke you for it,“ Max said, nodding towards Charles who sat there, watching Lando with an impish grin.

Lando chewed on his bottom lip for a second. „…it was a guy from school I liked. He was like… the hottest guy in school, and everyone liked him, and I guess he was kind of into me… he asked me if he could be my boyfriend, and we kissed under the bleachers.“

Charles groaned. „Your life is literally a teen movie.“

Lando let out a dismissive noise. „I realized really quickly that I didn’t like him enough for kissing, so I broke up with him I guess. He texted me for three months after, and even wrote me love letters, put them into my locker an’ all.“ He clicked his tongue dismissively. „Pretty annoying.“

Max and Charles exchanged an incredulous glance. „Our hot little girlie next door heartbreaker,“ Charles commented, leaning back on the sofa.

„I don’t think it was thaaat bad,“ Lando objected, making a face, which prompted Max and Charles to exchange another Look.

„Not much has changed since then,“ Max said with an idle laugh.

[multeasers]

“You ever gonna shut up and si’down? Some of us are tryin’ to watch a race, here.”

[dual-domination]

Behold, a WEILAN fic!

Sitting in the armchair by the window, he turned the page of the book, paying attention to the notes that the previous owner had made on the edges. It was curious to him how one could get to know a person just by reading what they chose to highlight and comment on in the text of a work. Shen Wei had several books that had once belonged to that same person. It was like an intimate friend he had never met. Maybe that person was already dead, but that thought didn't make Shen Wei sad or happy. It was just the fortune of being human. Shen Wei didn't know if that fortune now also belonged to him. After all, part of him was human too.

A rare occurrence in this department. Even rarer than Shen Wei's poetry books.

[dark-orca-dynasty]

I have names for the genderbend AU I was thinking of a while ago now

Fontaine = Fabien, reasoning is that it's a French name that begins with F (I would have gone for something related to water but I couldn't find one that wasn't just Fontaine but slightly altered)

Antaeus 'Ant' = Amphithoe 'Amy', named for one of the Nereids known as 'she who moves swiftly' and 'the shouter', perfect for a loud bouncy kid

Finn = Fionnuala 'Finn', I thought it'd be funny if girl!Finn had a masculine nickname like her mother

Madeline = Maximilian, I wanted a name that was sort of old fashioned and grand, the fact that boy!Maddy is now Mad Max was a coincidence.

Alpheus = Arethusa, a name I ended up passing over while trying to figure out a name for his mother.

[maozne18]

Me and @nollyya managed to find what the season they played against each other (14/15). If you even care.

[crystal-verse]

Day 23 - On Cloud Nine

[hi have some 5.4 fluff. brought to you by me remembering ishgard my beloved, and also that g'raha used to have a blue eye. i miss the blue eye. alas]

Cloud Nine is perhaps a bit of a misnomer should you ask the locals, but you certainly feel like you're on cloud nine, in this moment.

Breathlessly happy, flopped backwards onto the bed even in its -- lesser quality from some of the other inns you've been to, you pull Raha closer against you, your stuttering staccato purr rumbling all the while. "Is this the adventure in Ishgard you'd wanted, one day?" You ask, the purring drawing your r's out more than they already are.

Raha smirks at you. "Not quite, no." They lean forward, and press a kiss to your lips, your nose, your brow. "You'll have to take me around more of it than just the airship landing, Pheli."

You giggle, wrapping your tail around his back. "I will. It'll be a promise."

You lose energy to do much but melt further into the bed, but -- that's alright. You can melt, for this night. Raha is here, and he is alive (not encased in crystal, like he had been as the Exarch), and for the first time in many, many years you are able to simply. . . be, with him. In the Source, you mean. (It makes the -- strain, lesser. You are not simply the Warrior of Light, anymore -- no, Raha is there by your side to remind you that you're not only K'pheli the Warrior of Light but also Sae'pheli'ehva, that Miqo'te he had fallen in love with, that person who had slowly been coaxed into breathing again by Raha's own gentle hands and words. It's a nice feeling.)

"We should sleep." Raha suggests eventually, in a tone that suggests it's more meant for your benefit than theirs. You pout at them, but concede to the logic -- you'd arrived in Ishgard just before dark (thus the inn room), and tomorrow would likely be a busy day searching for wherever Estinien is -- if he is still in Ishgard at all. (He had better be.)

Still, you sigh dramatically. "Raha?"

"Mmh?"

"Sing to me?"

Raha smiles at you, a squinting sort of smile that takes up his whole face. The familiarity of it makes your chest ache for a moment -- when last you'd seen that boyish expression on them, Raha's other eye had been blue. (It has been quite some while since his eye was blue, but you still find yourself -- forgetting. Expecting to find red-and-blue, instead of red-and-red. Still. You will get used to it, the same as Raha has gotten used to you.) "If that is what you wish."

And so -- he sings. And so, you drift to sleep. (What a lovely way to sleep -- to be lulled by the soft, sweet song of a lover.)

[heroicintention]

@eraserisms

My muse had been kidnapped and tortured for the past week send “I’m here- I’m here, now” for your muse to save them.

He was little more than a crumpled heap on the floor, arms captured behind him by the wrists. Izuku had been too beaten down to move much at all. The group that had caught him off guard wasn't one he'd seen before, or else he would've fought instead of going in as a civilian situation... Stupid, it was stupid...

The voice that came wasn't one he anticipated but eyes half opened to see the teacher-- and he managed to crack a smile. "Hey sensei... Did I miss much...?" he said, voice a near wheeze, the young man completely dehydrated before eyes close again. "Sorry for causing... trouble again..."

[idkwhatimdoingbutslay]

Christmas/Holiday/Winter vibes aren’t vibing so I’m gonna have to take it into my own hands (I’m desperate to join all the writers writing for the season and also because CAITLYN AND VI BEING IN LOVE: SNOW VERSION????)

[dementedspeedster]

So... Thad. Tell us. Just how 'human' is Match, if you know what I mean. Does any of Bad Dragon's lineup look a little familiar? 😏

Accepting || Ask My Muse Anything It could be anything at all, no limits, no restrictions, and my muse has to answer to the best of their ability. (Note: I'm not being canon compliant for this question; We're having a lil fun here.)

Thad only manages to get out an embarrassed stuttering of, "I— I'm not— I wouldn't know tha—" before he's shoved out of the way, a flash of gold shines on the hand doing the shoving, and he tumbles over the back of the sofa while a potential future version of himself takes the place of where he was standing just moments before.

"I'm not—" The older version of Thad begins before glancing in the direction the very dazed present-day version of himself and then back to the anon, "We're not one's to kiss and tell, but seeing how there's no answering the question without present-day Thad embarrassing himself to death, I'll take the reins here. Just remember Match's mine, I'm just sharing some scientific facts. Though don't let Match know I said anything." He says before adding with a smirk, "Not that he has anything to be ashamed of."

He chuckles, "Heh, cute, anonymous, but honestly? You're not too far off the mark in your comparison. However, they certainly can't compare to Match in my personal opinion. His, ahem, equipment has a similar structural design to that of a cisgender human male, but there are apparent differences on a first look regarding aspects such as shape and texture. However," He flashes a smile at the anon, "those intimate details are for me to know and for you to never find out."

"Honestly, I'm more surprised you're not asking about his other differences. The prominent fangs. The unique vocalizations such as growling. Elevated temperature. And more." He raises his fingers one by one, "Kryptonians are incredibly fascinating."

[hangesbrattyapprentice]

Chains in the Sand

1

After losing the battle of Shiganshina, three Warriors return to Marley with some unplanned cargo.

Or

Zeke has a new hobby.

cw: allusion to canon-typical violence, injury, and death, angst, kidnapping, yandere behaviour, zeke being messed up in general, miscarriage, suicidal thoughts, nudity, eventual smut.

Dark content in general. My dead dove radar is very skewed so I can't really tell how dark this is but please read at your own discretion and MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!

Sooo I recently finished chp 2 on ao3 and decided to post this fic here as well because this is pretty much my second home rn. Hope you enjoy!

Things here felt…wrong. She didn’t know where they’d brought her – having seen nothing for days save for the inside of a trunk before being transferred to this hovel – but everything here, even the most normal of objects, seemed to emit an unsettling aura.

The bathroom she was in was simple enough – dingy tiled walls and floor of a shade that didn’t match any identifiable colour, a drain in one corner, a toilet in the other, one water fixture jutting out of the wall, a barrel-like tub that would not accommodate unbent knees, and nothing else.

And yet, the sense of discordance clung to every corner of this place just like relentless nausea clung to her. The glaze of the tiles was strange. The pattern of holes in the drain’s strainer was unlike any she had ever seen before. Outside, the cacophony of civilisation sounded foreign, although their language was the same as hers. Inside, the man knelt by the tub tending to her was foreign also. Even the air felt different to breathe. Though, she conceded, that might just be her battered lungs.

Is this really what it’s like on the other side, she wondered.

I am outside the Walls.

She didn’t need reminding, but the voice in her head had been chanting the words persistently… Ever since she’d woken up that first time after Shiganshina.

She was angry, furiously so, at the voice for being of no use at all, but she’d learnt to welcome it in place of other things – thoughts that might creep in were it silenced.

She was outside the Walls. And the man’s ministrations, every scrub, every sweep of the washcloth over her skin, brought back fragments of her journey.

He’d started by carefully rubbing the mixture of dried vomit and tears from her face. Most of the journey had passed with her unconscious, but she had woken up disoriented, in excruciating pain, lying on her side in a box darker than the insides of her eyelids. It might have been fear, the agony from her burns, or the realisation that all had been lost. The slow, steady rocking sensation didn’t help. It made her feel like there was no solid ground beneath her. Made her organs feel as if they were sloshing around inside her, untethered.

She’d managed to vomit into a corner further away from the scratchy rag that served as her makeshift pillow, but it hadn’t made much difference when they simply put her under again to loll within the same confines.

The first time they had injected her was before the trunk, right after the battle. Seeing the syringe, she had screamed and thrashed, thinking they would turn her into a pure titan. It was the only function she’d ever associated with the needle, after all.

So stupid. They had all been so stupid, kept in the dark by these others who lived beyond the Walls. Who made titans. Who could make it so your body was paralysed even as your mind stayed wide awake.

Two of them had held her down while a third pierced the skin at the periphery of her injuries. She thought it might have been this man, the one now clinically scrubbing the grime off of her one unbandaged arm after thoroughly cleansing her hair and wrapping it in a towel.

She watched him absently as she tried to recall.

Those same hands. Large, sturdy, their backs dusted with fine golden hair. These were the hands that had meticulously picked the charred bits of leather and cotton from the sludge of her skin as she lay on the ground, unfeeling save for light tugs and twitches.

Back in the bathroom with walls that had no colour, the man spoke, but she didn’t hear him. He lifted the golden mop of his head to fix her with an expectant look. Behind the round wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes didn’t have a distinct colour either, nor any discernible affect. They could have been blue or green or a golden hazel, she couldn’t tell. But they held patient expectation.

He wanted her to lift her arm. She complied, and he washed under her arm and across her sternum and breasts, taking care to be thorough but gentle over her sensitive skin. Her raised arm quickly lost strength and gingerly, it drooped down to rest on his shoulder.

Water seeped through cotton fibres, making them cling to her skin and his. He didn’t seem bothered by it, only continuing – now beneath the water’s surface – his task of wiping away grime to reveal cuts and bruises instead. Cuts and bruises were manageable. But part of her, the part that wasn’t numb from shock, feared what was under the bandages on her left shoulder and upper arm. It wasn’t just burnt flesh. Or at least, not just her burnt flesh.

She feared what else had been lost in that explosion. That –

She took a rattling breath, a feeble attempt to gather herself.

I am outside the Walls.

I am outside the Walls.

The man looked up at her face again, hooded eyes regarding her.

“Does it hurt?”

What an absurd question. There was nothing in all of existence that didn’t hurt.

“Alright, now hold on tight,” he murmured, sliding his hands under her arms to lift her to her feet.

Water streamed from her body back into the tub, her stomach feeling as though it followed the same downward motion. Her legs wobbled, her grip on him tightening for stability. He waited until she steadied, his palms flat against her sides.

She glanced down at herself, being careful not to dislodge the towel folded atop her head. The lukewarm water had washed away most of the blood, but a significant amount remained, congealed and dried, between her legs and down the insides of her thighs.

The man knelt again, manoeuvring her so that both her hands rested firmly on his shoulders. With a hand supporting the back of her thigh, he lifted her leg and began cleaning her vulva. He seemed to have no reservations about a task so…delicate. The blood didn’t phase him either. He only muttered something about what an inconvenience menstruation must be during battle and the unfortunate choice of white uniform trousers.

Maybe he was a doctor.

She vaguely recalled that said trousers had been stuffed into a bag along with the rest of her clothes, presumably to be discarded.

She tried to tell him she wasn’t menstruating. She hadn’t, in almost three months. But speaking was difficult, and she decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Saying anything wouldn’t make a difference whatsoever.

Everything that mattered had been lost on either side of that broken gate to Shiganshina.

Everyone on that side of Shiganshina is dead.

That’s what they’d told her when she – a lone, badly injured scout – had challenged the retreating Cart Titan with a broken blade at the border of the city. The river’s current had carried her all the way there.

She wasn’t sure anymore who exactly had given her this information. Her thoughts were jumbled and muddy from all the chaos and drugs. There was the Cart Titan, and others. Traitors...

The Colossal Titan, she remembered. Berthold! That filthy lowlife of a traitor who had killed everyone in his devastating explosion. She would have been among them, had she not hurtled herself into the river, gear whirring at full speed.

She gazed down, swirls of brown and burgundy coiling around her knees where her legs disappeared beneath the murky water. Maybe it would have been better to die with them.

The thought felt oddly, comfortingly familiar.

When she had been scrubbed head to toe, the man straightened up and sighed as if he had just finished a long day of work at a desk.

He undid the towel on her head, using it to gently dry her hair and massage her scalp. Then he patted dry the rest of her body and helped her out of the tub, one leg at a time. He guided her by her right hand into the space that was the rest of the miserable dwelling.  

The entire place was a square room with a crooked, boarded-up window beside the door, directly opposite the bathroom. There was a sink outside the bathroom, a mattress on the floor covered with a thin sheet, and a single rickety wooden chair. The rest of the furnishings, if you could call them that, were built into the walls like extensions of the building. There was a tall shelf and a counter about waist-high.

It was all so peculiar…and she just couldn’t bring herself to care.

She barely noticed him dressing her in a plain sleeveless shift. She only took note when he sat her on the trunk in which she’d been packed and began unwrapping her bandages, starting just below her elbow and working his way up. She flinched when he pulled on a section that had stuck to her skin.

His gaze flickered up to her face.

“Ah, apologies, Liebchen. I’m out of anaesthetics,” he said, cocking his head and reaching up to scratch his earlobe absentmindedly. “Be a brave girl for me, hm?”

He resumed the unwrapping, not expecting a response. This suited her just fine. She lost interest in what was being done to her, eyes glazing over as she stared into space.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The change unsettled her.

He spoke often, right from the moment he had cracked open the lid of the trunk, going on about this and that. But he hadn’t tried to initiate conversation, never actually expected an answer from her. She wouldn’t have responded now, but some old part of her remained from a time when her name meant something – when declaring it meant claiming some power.

“M…”

She pressed her lips together to form the consonant, but they wobbled, unaccustomed to use.

“Mmm-” she tried again, the vibrations of the sound shaking her to the core and finally tipping her teetering body over the edge of nausea. She bent over, retching violently. Her stomach didn't have much to give, but bile splattered on the floor before her – and on his bare feet.

With a nonchalant sigh, he stood, fetching a mug and the towel he had just used on her from the bathroom. She panted and observed him as he moved, not rushing to clean up the mess but methodically wiping away the evidence of her sickness. His foot was lifted, inspected with a detached curiosity, then cleaned with the same painstaking precision.

"It really is quite something, isn't it?" he started, the silence broken once more with his rumbling baritone. "The human body, that is." His gaze remained on his task, fingers expertly swiping over the floor. "It’s such a complex and yet vulnerable thing. You, for example, are in the aftermath of a rather impressive display of resilience. Yet here we are, brought low by a simple biological response."

As he worked, he continued to chat away, his tone casual, as if they were merely two old friends catching up. The conversation remained decidedly one-sided, filled with his musings on the nature of humanity and the bitter-sweet paradoxes of life. He seemed entirely unbothered by the lack of response, perfectly content with the rhythm of his monologue in the background of his clean-up while she sat there, weak and broken.

"But I suppose that's just how things are, isn't it? We are always at the mercy of something, be it other people, circumstance, or even our own bodies. It’s a constant balance – the want to survive and the inevitability of our fragility."

Finally, the floor clean, he straightened. A casual glance in her direction was accompanied by a knowing smile. The towel he'd used to clean up her mess was rinsed, wrung out and hung up over the counter to dry. He returned to his earlier position in front of her. His tall, rugged form towered over her but not in a way that felt threatening. Despite everything, he was careful, almost reverential, as his fingers – dry and cool – worked gently on the dressing.

The bandages came away bit by bit, revealing angry burns and scorched flesh.

"Mmm," he hummed, more to himself than to her, dabbing at the worst of the burns with a clean, wet cloth. "These should have been attended to earlier. It seems I have a trip to make."

The observation was casual, almost conversational, but there was a calculated awareness in his eyes, an understanding of the predicament that lay beneath the seemingly offhand remark.

Throughout, his gaze would occasionally flicker to her, his eyes ever searching, but his touch remained unwaveringly gentle. "I'll need to head out soon. Get you some food and medicine. Painkillers. Ointments. Perhaps some fresh clothes." His voice had a velvety depth, a soothing counterpoint to the sharp sting of his ministrations. "We can’t have you staying in this state."

His words floated past her like wayward leaves on a stream, inconsequential and distant. She remained motionless, her gaze directed at the far corner of the room, unseeing. Her heart, mind, and body were cloaked in an impenetrable fog, only the occasional sharp tug on her wounds tethering her to reality.

He paused his task, looking up at her, his gaze focused and contemplative. "And, ah, sanitary items," he ventured. "You'll be needing those as well, won't you?"

The question accentuated the strange, invasive intimacy between them. But she simply shook her head, a feeble motion that hardly moved her. The hollowed-out shell of the woman she'd been managed to scrape together a faint whisper, "No."

She felt the momentary shift in pressure from where his hand held hers, a flash of something unidentifiable flitting across his features. Understanding? Pity? It was gone as soon as it came, his expression once again pleasantly, if unsuitably neutral behind his glasses.

“Alright,” was all he said, collecting the soiled dressing. The conversation was left to dwindle in the still air of the room, the silence wrapping around her once more like a blanket. Her response hung heavily in that silence, a harsh reminder of all that was lost.

[beneathsilverstars]

i finally came up with some outfit sketches i'm really happy with, but now that i'm lining it it's not quite coming together with the right vibes... i really hope that coloring will- shit this is canon isat verse so no color. umm maybe i can do just a tiny bit of rendering to imply the fabric type??

[lsdoiphin]

Been busy with nanowrimo but allowed myself some time to draw some silly illustrations of applerankings featuring an increasingly off model Isaac.