#which seemed appropriate

[sarcasticdolphin]

“Named” Todolf fae au. If you are new since I did the other fae au stuff, then I recommend you read the earlier drabbles in this verse on ao3.

This one is for the lovely @adridoesstuff :) after you mentioned fae au yesterday this idea has refused to leave my mind.

Cut because fae au, though strictly speaking this drabble isn’t actually all that bad.

Even after he’s fae, fully and properly, he and Tod only watch at the mingling, lying contently in each other’s arms. They enjoy each other in the privacy of their bed, sometimes before, so Rudolf can feel the deep ache as they listen to the sounds of pleasure around them as they exchange lazy kisses, and sometimes after, their lust stoked by the lust of the others as it permeates the air.

It’s one of the times when Tod has thoroughly and utterly sated them both beforehand, so much so that Rudolf is amazed that he even managed to walk in himself, that the thought first comes into Rudolf’s mind, between the moans all around them, filtering through the gossamer curtains. 

Rudolf hadn’t been looking at all at the others, content to gaze up at Tod as his fingers lazily drew spirals on the king’s bare chest. Tod’s arm was around him, his thumb making gentle little soothing motions just at Rudolf’s waist.

Rudolf. His name. It was the only thing left, that had come before Tod. He didn’t remember the surface world. Tod had told him of it on occasion, and had shown him a few sketches. But Rudolf didn’t care to remember anything before the sunless sky, before Tod’s arms, before Tod. Tod is his world, his life, his everything.

The gentle fingers that stroke his cheek, that tilt his chin up to gaze at Tod’s luminous eyes are so welcome, though Rudolf can tell Tod has recognized the turmoil in his thoughts. He leans up, pressing a little kiss to Tod’s jawline.

I’m fine. We’ll talk later.

Tod presses a kiss to his brow in turn and cradles him closer, slotting their legs more properly together.

They continue to lay there, Rudolf rarely moving, just listening to the sounds around them, feeling the steady rise and fall of Tod’s chest, the beating of his heart, the warmth of his skin. He is loathed to do so but he does break the spell after a time, slipping more fully into Tod’s lap, humming at the ache in his body as he and Tod trade deeply possessive kisses. Tod’s fingers find Rudolf’s and they mesh together as Tod pulls Rudolf closer still. 

They kiss again, and Tod lazily flips them so Rudolf is gazing up at him, hands arched above his head for a moment before they go to Tod’s shoulders, giving little tugs. Tod doesn’t indulge him immediately, slowly lowering himself until they are chest to chest, legs fully intertwined once more. A few more slow kisses follow before Tod shifts them once more, returning Rudolf to his earlier place, tucked into Tod’s side.

--------------

The mingling is long over by the time they stand once more in their chambers, Rudolf’s clever fingers keeping busy as he helps Tod into his sleeping garb. His own is easy enough to attend to alone, but Tod never minds the help. It’s different, in a way. Where once they were opposites - Rudolf in garb white as snow, even for sleep, and Tod in inky black - now they are mirror images, the black stark against their pale skin.

But even as Tod reclines in bed, Rudolf nuzzling close, kissing the king’s jaw once more, he speaks.

“Something troubles you.”

“Yes, Majesty.” Tod has never asked him to use his title. Never when he was small, never even at court, with the others. But Rudolf likes the way it sounds, and he thinks Tod quite likes the way it flows off his tongue.

Perhaps once Tod would have had to tip Rudolf’s chin up so their eyes would meet, but not anymore. Rudolf meets the king’s eyes with ease, feeling the king’s thumb begins to make little soothing circles by his waist, where the sleep pants and shirt meet.

“I was just thinking about what I remember, from when I was young. And the thought occurred to me - this name, Rudolf. It’s from the surface, from the human world.”

Tod’s grip adjusts a little as they settle further, but he doesn’t speak, waiting patiently as Rudolf finds the right words.

“I don’t remember anything of the surface. And I find I mislike having my name be such a constant reminder, of there. I-” Rudolf’s eyes had been shifting, not downward but away from Tod’s. He looks back at the king, who is listening intently. “I was hoping you would give me a new one.”

“Oh, my precious prince.” Tod presses a kiss to Rudolf’s brow. “It would be my honor.”

They lay together for a long moment before Tod rises, much to Rudolf’s dissatisfaction, but he goes along with the king to their little balcony, the one that overlooks the gardens. The trees and fruits are so different in the dim light. Some wilted and withered, asleep, while a select few are fully blossomed, their own sleep being something for the day. 

Tod’s arm remains around him, as they take in the gardens for a long moment before the king turns to him, touching their foreheads.

“Golnar.” One of the king’s hands has moved to stroke Rudolf’s cheek as he pronounces the new name.

Rud- Golnar. It will take some getting used to, but he quite likes the name the king has chosen. Golnar is his name now. He raises himself onto his toes to kiss the king’s cheek in thanks. 

“Thank you.”

[cator99]

out of curiosity, would you consider yourself butch?

used to be a blonde underweight twink and now I'm a based jock still got the chanel bag and the sick albeit matured mind of a suckpig to prove it so I'm gonna let you decide whether you wanna call me that word just cuz I got a pussy and short hair. I promise you that there have been enough advancements made in the art of lesbian sexual dynamics in the past 50 years to broaden the vocabulary used to describe the plethora of types of masculine females.

[metanarrates]

its interesting to me that the common sentiment appears to be that han sooyoung intended for jang hayoung to be trans. I think there's room for multiple interpretations, but I view being trans in orv as being inherently tied to the themes of self-actualization, as well as the idea that a narrative is unable to be fully defined by either author or reader. put more simply, jang hayoung is trans regardless of either kim dokja OR han sooyoung's intentions in creating her, or in how they each interpreted her. maybe the version of her in the novel was meant to be something else, but in the reality of this world, she is a trans girl. han sooyoung's intentions kind of don't matter there because the text has moved beyond its author

[marlynnofmany]

Always Bring A Flashlight

“This delivery,” I said, trying to hold my feet stable on the uneven ground, “Would have been a great use for the hovercycle.”

“Yes it would,” Blip agreed. She pushed the hoversled along with me, having just as much trouble with the criss-crossing tree roots that made up what passed for a road here. Her clothes for today were the type that fit closely and displayed muscle, leaving her natural frills as the only things waving in the breeze. Or maybe they were waving with frustration.

Normally she and Blop would have done a delivery together, but he’d sprained his shoulder trying one of Wio’s impossible puzzleboxes. He knew full well those were meant for people with tentacles instead of arms. Now he was recuperating on the ship, while we pushed a sled full of packages over some very treacherous footing. No, I wasn’t bitter about that.

“Have we tried hooking the bike up to a sled before?” I asked, stepping over a python-sized root and walking down one the size of a playground slide. “I know it would take some quick work on the brakes to keep it from crashing into anything, and you’d need somebody to ride along and steer, but it seems doable.”

Paint piped up from where she was riding on the front of the sled. “Oh, like when we did that one rush delivery with you running and pulling it!”

I chuckled, slipping just a little. “Yep, like when I was a sled dog. But with less of a risk of spraining an ankle.”

Blip said, “Pretty sure Captain Sunlight declared it too risky for regular deliveries. The hovercycle’s for small packages, not whole piles.”

Paint clambered over the stack to look down at us. Her orange scales were bright in this foresty dimness. “But it’s all tied down so well.”

I craned my neck up. “Are those rated for sitting on?”

“Hm. Probably not.” She climbed back to the front where the brakes were. She was a little small to be of any help in pushing, but she made a good lookout.

Like now. “Hey, what’s that?”

I peered around the side of the package stack, but didn’t see anything other than giant trees and a ground covered in roots. Plus the occasional white marker attached to the trunks so offworld courier crews didn’t get desperately lost. It was all very shadowy and green. “Where?”

“There’s misty-looking stuff in the distance,” Paint reported. “Steam? Fog? Poison gas?”

Blip groaned. “I hope not.”

I thought back to the briefing for this location. “There wasn’t anything hazardous in the report. No predators of note either.”

“Good,” Blip said as the mist grew thick enough to spot in the shadows. “That means probably nothing will jump out at us when the visibility’s egg-dark.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “Are we still going to be able to see the pathway?” The white marker sticks were kind of far apart. I didn’t like our odds if we missed one.

“So far,” Paint said from the front of the sled.

We pushed on. The fog thickened faster than I expected, and I found myself struggling to make out the root shapes before I needed to step on or over them. “Paint? Are we going the right way?”

“I think so?” she said, a faint distressed blur in the darkness. “I don’t suppose either of you brought a light?”

“No.” I sighed. “Just my communicator, which isn’t going to do us much good.”

“I’ve got one!” Blip said, tugging at a pocket that I hadn’t realized was there. “It’s the kind that doesn’t make your eyes adjust, too.” With a quiet click, suddenly everything was vivid red.

“Ow,” I said on reflex.

“Perfect!” Paint exclaimed, setting the brakes and climbing over the boxes again. Her scales were as red as the boxes, though Blip looked black like the roots underfoot. While they handed the light off, I checked my own hand out of curiosity: red too, though not as bright as Paint.

“Twist it to adjust the focus!” Blip called. We were in shadow again, now that the light was on the other side of the stack.

“Got it,” Paint said. She fiddled with it for a moment, then sent a beam of red lancing into the mist with much less scattering in all directions. “That way! A little more to the left!”

Blip and I resumed pushing. We had to rely on Paint completely, but it worked.

She sounded delighted. “We’ll be there in no time! Onward!”

It was then that I realized what all this reminded me of, and I nearly fell over laughing. They of course demanded to know what was so funny.

“Another legend from my planet,” I said, wiping away tears. “Paint, I got to be Balto last time. You get to be the hero today!”

And then I sang Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer for my alien coworkers, and they were honored to be part of it.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[oflights]

wip snip 4.2

thank you for the tag, @elskanellis! your snip is so intriguing 👀

in return, have some more of time travel fic: extremely gooey and tender and basically what the next 10k or so words are going to be (the fic is currently 20k lmao) before things get Bad again. still heartbreaking in its tenderness, though, because baby harry is heartbreaking (a contextual reminder that he is 7 in this snip!!! adult harry is henceforth "potter" from draco's pov).

“This is for me?” Harry asks, doing another turn, clutching at the still unnamed dragon in his hands. “All of this, the bed and—I can—”

“Harry,” Draco says softly, coming closer and dropping to crouch again, ignoring his protesting thighs starting to truly feel all the activity of the day. “Yes, all of this. You can sleep in the bed, you can name your toy—it’s all yours. This is what looking after you means; everything that I can offer is yours now. I promise.”

“Do I have to—” Harry starts, and Draco simply doesn’t want to hear where that’s going.

“No. You don’t have to do a single thing. It’s just yours. Because—because you’re a guest, and a kid, and kids deserve these sorts of things no matter what.”

“Oh,” Harry says, sounding genuinely startled in a way that makes Draco want to punch—someone. Perhaps Vernon or Petunia Dursley, or perhaps Albus Dumbledore. He did not ever imagine he would one day find new and more infuriating reasons to resent Dumbledore this long after his death, but he supposes life is surprising that way.

Harry breaks up his surprised, revelatory stance with another yawn, and this time Draco makes sure his tone brooks no argument when he directs him to the bathroom with the pajamas. To keep busy and shove down the punching urge, he resizes another set of clothes from the wardrobe for the morning, startling himself when he leans too far in and his hand disappears through the back wall.

“Oh, right, I should warn you,” Draco says when Harry returns, changed and padding gingerly towards the bed. “The wardrobe is a portal to the treehouse, so be careful if you go too far into it.”

“You have a treehouse?” Harry asks with a gasp, and Draco smiles at him, striding over and pulling the quilt back for Harry to settle in.

“You have a treehouse. I’ll show you tomorrow, if you’d like.”

He waits as Harry clambers onto the bed and settles against the mound of pillows, smoothing the quilt over him and then making sure the dragon is tucked in, too. “Any ideas on a name?” Draco asks softly, tweaking the dragon’s snout. “Do you want to sleep on it?”

“Can I name him after a—a con—a constellation? Like you?” Harry asks, frowning in concentration.

“Yes, of course you can. Which do you fancy?” Draco sits on the bed near Harry’s feet and leans back on his hands, gazing up at the ceiling as it cycles over them. “There’s Cygnus, the swan I was telling you about—he was my grandfather, you know, and right by Draco, so that’s convenient. There’s Pegasus, too, a type of flying horse, and Cepheus, he was a king in Ancient Greece—well, he chained his daughter up to a rock, so maybe not the best role model, but a cool name nonetheless. Just stop me if anything grabs you, really.”

“What’s that one?” Harry asks, squinting up and pointing; Draco makes a mental note to solve the glasses issue as soon as possible. He looks where Harry’s pointing, southwest of the quadrant he’d been explaining, and spots the most recognizable constellation there is.

“Ah, that’s Orion. The hunter. He was a Giant, you know, and he got pretty boastful, so Gaia—super powerful Earth mum, you did not want to get on her bad side—sent a great big scorpion after him. They fought, so you’ll never see Orion and Scorpius—that constellation all the way over there—in the sky at the same time. But Ophiuchus—he was a Healer, that one over there, see how he’s sort of between Orion and Scorpius? He gave Orion some medicine and saved him from Scorpius.”

Harry’s eyes are drooping closed, but he still murmurs, “Really? Is that all true?”

“Well, sort of. They’re stories, myths; all the stars have stories. There are different versions and they change depending on who you talk to, but I have my favorite versions because they’re the ones my mum told me.”

Draco checks in to see that Harry’s eyes are almost completely closed, and keeps talking hoping they’ll close further; how many times had his mother talked him to sleep?

“If you’re in the sky, it means you’re pretty important, right? So that means lots of stories. I’ll tell you all of them, if you’d like. I think you’ll enjoy this room, and you’ll be happy here. I hope so.”

That’s all verging on a ramble, but he thinks it doesn’t matter because Harry is asleep. So Draco gets up gently, patting Harry’s foot over the quilt, shoots the still unnamed dragon a grin, and starts to leave the room.

He stops only when he hears Harry mumble, “Orion. That’s his name,” and curl around the dragon, breathing going smooth and even, arms clutching it tight against his small frame.

Draco smiles at them both. “Goodnight, Harry and Orion.”

tagging @teledild0nix @phoebe-delia and @thehoneybeet, fully randomly chosen so absolutely no pressure!!

[valinoar]

the praise rhaenyra gets for being a “feminist queen” or someone who “cares about women unlike *insert character they don’t like*” is so unbelievably ridiculous it makes me laugh. so many team black stans love to paint alicent as a misogynistic demon who hates her daughter and will then use rhaenyra as the antithesis of this as if that woman didn’t deliberately undermine baela and rhaena’s own very much legitimate claims to driftmark to further her own agenda. she passes them off as contenders all for the sake of her sweet illegitimate son, whom she knows genuinely has no claim, and thinks all is well after proposing a lousy betrothal (which she makes BEFORE consulting either girls).

[the-random-phan]

Ectober Week Day 31- "They say there's no such thing as the monster under the bed, but are you sure? ...Did you check?"

[seagull-scribbles]

Mr.United States Canada Mexico Panama

[smorgasbort]

Imagine if V.VII Swinburne got a disembodied Rubiconian stuck in his head and they had to put him through the full Scrooge treatment.

He becomes a changed man and starts redirecting funds to RLF cells and everyone thinks it’s because the re-education broke his mind but it’s actually because Coral Jacob Marley taught him the true meaning of Rubichristmas.

[wavebiders]

Been trying to figure out what age Shadowheart was supposed to be in the wolf flashbacks, and turns out Viconia really did just kidnap a whole 8 year old huh?

[transk0vsky]

I love how fluffy his hair is in this episode but the question has to be raised did he specifically fluff it up for this moment? Or does he have naturally wavy/fluffy hair but he just straightens it?

[thedreadvampy]

The thing is I am definitely not happy or chill in the Immediate Sense lately but I am, big picture, so fucking happy with the person I am.

It's like. My brain was made by and for consistent trauma and since that trauma stopped about 5-7 years ago, it is incredible what the amount of resilience and cleverness and flexibility and thoughtfulness I developed to survive can do when it's not being all spent on surviving. like I had a hundred ton weight on me so I had to get REALLY STRONG to stay in the same place and not get 100% crushed, and when that weight came off I found I can use the strength it used to take to stand up and I can leap tall buildings in a single bound.

I was talking to my mum the other day and she said, "you've got the 'fuck it' energy at 30 that most women don't find until their fifties at least" and I'm like yeah man. Imagine how unstoppable I'll be in 20 years.

[ewingstan]

tattletale for the ask game?

SEND ME A WILDBOW CHARACTER YOU LOVE. I WILL TELL YOU WHICH PHILOSOPHICAL THOUGHT EXPERIMENT YOU SHOULD GET REALLY OPINIONATED ABOUT (SLASH DEVELOP A PSYCHOSEXUAL FIXATION ON)

For Lisa? Oh its Laplace's Demon with a bullet. It knows everything about you. Everything you do, everything you are. Surely then it knows who you were, maybe even better than you do. Does it see how you used to hurt? It tells you that it can predict your future, if only you'd open up a bit more. Let slip that last secret, open up that last bit of privacy to its prying eyes. It thinks your life is a beautiful story. It thinks your life is a tragedy. You don't know if even sees the you standing before it in the moment.

[tardis--dreams]

There's been interesting developments at work and i need to do a lot of work for university so i think tonight is the Perfect time to finish beyond evil

[unopenablebox]

u fucking wish u were me

[forensicbee]

Kinda hate to say it, but I actually really enjoyed the new Deadpool/Wolverine movie 😔