#inadvisable imagines

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

the past experience revived in the meaning an old deuteronomy fanmix  [listen]

01. Lux Aurumque - eric whitacre | 02. This Little Light of Mine - a covering | 03. Der Nussbaum (The Chestnut Tree) - london promenade orchestra  | 04. I’ve Been This Way Before - neil diamond  |  05. Carry That Weight - the beatles   |  06. Libiamo ne’ lieti calici (live) - plácido domingo | 07. someone new - hozier  |  08. Homeward Bound - bryn terfel | 09. whispering - alex clare  | 10. Dear Fellow Traveller - sea wolf  | 11. Hey Brother - the mayries & dan berk | 12. Return - james newton howard  | 13. Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal Op. 3 No. 2 - roger quilter, thomas allen & geoffrey parsons | 14. Soave sia il vento - miah persson, angela brower & alessandro corbelli  | 15. Annie’s Song (instrumental) - james galway | 16. Songs My Mother Taught Me - Paul Robeson  | 17. Golden Slumbers - josh young | 18.  silhouette - aquilo | 19.  I Tried - rory campbell  | 20.  Eclipse - john denver | 21. Yearning - carl moir   | 22. The Secret Garden - aurora  | 23. Keep On - michael nesmith | 24. All The Faces - creed bratton  | 25. Constellations - the oh hellos  |  26.  Willow Tree March - the paper kites |  27. Memory (instrumental) - jian wang & göran söllscher | 28.  This Is A Changing World - noel coward  | 29.  When It’s Time - lotte kestner | 30. The Sands of Time Are Sinking - the scottish festival singers  | 31.  100 Years (Acoustic) - five for fighting | 32.  The Prayer - helene fischer & andrea bocelli | 33. I Wish I Had a Hundred Years - fernando velázquez  | 34. The Long Road (Acoustic) - passenger  |  35.  Across The Vast, Eternal Sky - the choir of royal holloway |  

Semi-explanation below the cut

Feel free to ignore this one, if you care not for context, but let me see if I can explain this because I am not completely pleased with the order *but* it’s a lot like Gus’ in that it isn’t necessarily always fully lyrically applicable, but rather tells the expanse of a life lived. 

The opening few songs are mostly free of lyrics - Deuteronomy was slow to talk when he was a kitten. He spent a good majority of his young kittenhood non-verbal and late to talk compared to his fellows, but he was still blossoming incredibly quickly developmentally, particularly in mental and telepathic capacity. He started understanding things that were odd for kittens to understand (and his second mother indicated that there was...a light behind his eyes that was difficult to place that signified a wisdom far beyond his years). The first few songs lack lyrics (or have very few) to illustrate this tentative step into a life that is celebrated (being the heir), and how he is valued but comes into himself slowly.  

“I’ve Been This Way Before” is when Deuteronomy finally starts to speak - and when he begins, he skips right over his babble and the present. He speaks about pasts he knows - so many of them - in great detail, remembering places he’s never been and cats he’s never met. He goes from being non-verbal to talking *non-stop*, often cryptically and with little reason. At this point he speaks *beyond* his own past lives; he speaks about the lives of other cats as well. And it’s at that point where it’s realized that Deuteronomy’s life isn’t going to be an easy one - he won’t just be carrying on his own life; he’ll be carrying on the lives of hundreds - thousands - of others. Not only is he meant to lead the Tribe (and after the death or disappearance of his later siblings, the *only* one left to lead), he’s meant to keep their memories as well (an ill advised combo).  

Though a relatively wise, empathetic-to-a-fault, and even tempered child, and willing to attended his training dutifully, like most young cats, Deuteronomy doesn’t take all too kindly to the promise of responsibility at first - as he entered his maturation years, he began to act out. Along with his foster brother, Gus, he settled into his “devil may care,” “sowing his wild oats” era, not quite wanting to dwell on how heavy his life was about to become, flitting from cat to cat (that’s where the “buried 99 wives” rumour comes from - there are plenty of notches in the old tom’s belt and plenty of other kittens, much as most cats lives are wont to be), experience to experience, theoretically place to place (he never leaves entirely), longing to drift off and explore the world before inevitably being tied down to his responsibilities (knowing still that he did need to return to them and never thinking he never wanted to - he always did want to). They have their fun (to a just about alarming level), but those whispers and visions he has just don’t...stop. He can ignore them all he likes, but they just get louder and clearer and begin to teach him things that he couldn’t quite grasp before; things you cannot really *be* taught. His venturing outside of the Junkyard shows him the extent of things he never experienced. So, though he longs for a continued adolescence free of the burden of his gifts and responsibility, he quickly realizes that he cannot have one. He has too many cats depending on him - there are too many wrongs in the world that he can’t run from. His father is old - Maladeen has passed on - he is the only one left. So, though it’s not entirely what he wants, he returns to his family fully, hangs up his belt, and takes up his mantle.

For the first little while, things look up for Deuteronomy. He reunites with a queen from his past, meets another, they fall in love, they build their life together in spite of knowing that, ultimately, it will never be an easy one  (”Soave sia il vento” is a cry for the sea to be calm; much like a cry for life to be easy - though Mya, and Ginny - brain children of the always brilliant @theimpossiblescheme -​ know it might not be and Dee *knows* for certain it won’t be). Still, they are happy; they have their sons, Deuteronomy thinks on his mothers and passes their teachings on to them, and it seems perhaps he’s got a grasp on everything at last. 

But, as always, nothing good lasts for too long. Deuteronomy starts disassociating far more frequently - some nights it’s hard for him to recognize himself; understand where he begins and ends. He struggles to keep from turning inwards - as his father had as he struggled with his own underdeveloped psychic abilities - and it’s just as difficult for other cats to recognize him in tandem. It’s all just...too much. Too, too much. He feels like an exposed nerve all the time; everything hurts. Everyone’s feelings burn in his throat; all of their pain becomes his, and he just shoulders more and more with seemingly no end and it’s overwhelming.His cup runs over. He loves them too much - he cares *too much*. The only way he can quiet it down it to distance himself - try to be that unshakeable calm that his training demanded of him. It works. Kinda. The rest of the Junkyard notes this change. 

Things beyond his control start happening - defects and illnesses and power struggles and threats; and others within his control start slipping through as a result. He tries to hold onto everything but he’s only one cat. He loses his eldest son to the lure of powers beyond his understanding, Mya to her sympathetic heart, then Ginny to the Heaviside- almost in succession. At this point, Deuteronomy is at a loss; the pain of others mixes with his own - it doesn’t stop. It gets so bad, that it begins to run over through the cracks in his consciousness he is barely able to patch; being around Deuteronomy can just as easily be uncomfortable and emotionally painful as not. It’s a hard time for everyone. 

But one evening, at the pique of what seems like a never ending well of suffering, he sees something (whether it be a vision from the Everlasting Cat or her servants, he’s never been certain). He tells no one of what he sees (he takes that to his grave), but whatever it was, like a switch, it gives Deuteronomy this sudden, quiet feeling of...calm. It all falls into place; he is no longer struggling against his gift, he is working with it; he *understands* it, at long last. And with this new found sense of purpose, in spite of his loss, in spite of his grief, he continues on. 

Deuteronomy ages, becomes wiser, shares his wisdom with his family. Cats leave - cats come back - he gains a whole gaggle of in laws and grandkittens and grand nieces and nephews.  He teaches his family the importance of unconditional love; the act of forgiveness, both on oneself and towards others. Mya eventually returns to him; life has finally settled. But eventually things must come to an end; the great immortal - who was thought perhaps never to die - is a mere mortal after all. Deuteronomy’s final Ball is an entirely bittersweet affair and filled with lessons overlapping one another, the old cat hoping he’s passed everything he needed to onto his family. “The Prayer” is illustrative of a final duet with his dear Sillabub, who will take the mantle after him and has the honour of sending him up, passing on the final message he imparts his cats with. 

And he is sent off in the same way he was brought into the world - with a dramatic choir swell and then silence. 

#Old Deuteronomy #fanmix #my famix #my headcanons #a rough headcanon map that obviously changes as i see fit - but here's a base story #me putting more thought into the older cats than necessary? you're damn right #anyway i love deuteronomy - love that guy so much #also no he didn't drive macavity to do anything; he's a grown up he made his own choices #he refused to listen when deuteronomy tried to teach him to get a handle on his keeper memories - he did something inadvisable and used #his stolen magic to *forcibly sever* his tie to these memories which drove him *further* off the deep end #deuteronomy cannot even imagine the level of pain that must have caused him #dee loved his children more than anything else #it was they themselves who started taking things upon themselves - bad communication of feelings runs in the gene pool

[phantomoftheorpheum]

I am in the terrible headspace where the hyperfixation has set in, but not the creativity; so basically I'm just fucking useless all the way around.

#personal #td #hyperfixation #imagine how productive i would be if i could channel any of this into something useful #i'm convinced i have the worst creative process in the world #it's called 'being unable to think about anything but your creative project for an indeterminate amount of time and make it impossible #to concentrate on everything you should be doing but also fill yourself with such a sense of stress that you struggle to actually create #anything at all and then spend several weeks squeezing the creative juice out of your brain with a vise and maybe eventually manage #to cobble something half decent together. wash. rinse. repeat.' #also- do not under any circumstances google 'squeezing machine' when you can't think of the word 'vise.' highly inadvisable.

[chabbit]

Second time ever beating NaNo! And the most I’ve written for a single project since the first time I won nine years ago.

Now I can go bang my head against my final papers in peace...

#RIP my poor fingers #i feel blessed that my ra has not been acting up despite me doing some inadvisable things with my medication lately lol #thank you hands for carrying me through this trial #it's not a complete novel by any stretch of the imagination but it IS 50k which is something to be proud of! #even if it is self-indulgent irredeemable trash!

[isthereintruthnobeauty1968]

?? sisko going to jadzia for Love Advice i get but jadzia AND julian??????

#p #ds9 #his big tricks seem to be 'inadvisable involvement w a patient' 'flirt without committing' & 'break off serious relationship for ur career' #imagine he went to see just dax but they were sitting together and she went like Oh Benjamin :) what's new :) no go ahead and sit down :)

[cuubism]

Physical Therapy, Part 8

--

A few days later, Hob goes to Dream’s old flat. He wanted to go immediately, but he needed time to calm himself. If he went to confront Dream’s ex immediately, he’d be too likely to do something inadvisable out of anger.

Truthfully, he’s still so angry.

He can control himself, though. So he knocks on the door, instead of taking it off its hinges.

Dream’s ex-boyfriend opens the door with an annoyed look on his face. But jumps back, startled, at the sight of Hob. He recognizes Hob, then. Good.

“I’m here for Dream’s things,” he says. No need to prolong this with pleasantries.

“His things?” says the ex, with disdain, like Dream’s possessions mean nothing to him. “Why? He’ll come back anyway. Eventually.”

“No, he won’t.”

Ex-boyfriend leans against the door frame, smirking. Maybe Hob should have just punched him. “You going to stop him?”

Hob takes a deep, long breath. No. He actually wouldn’t try to stop him. He’s not going to force Dream to do anything. He’d try to convince him otherwise, though. And if he can be a good enough boyfriend, then maybe Dream will never feel the need to go back to some horrible place, looking for love.

“I don’t try to make people stay in my house,” he snaps. “His things. Now. You think I won’t punch you again?”

So much for being calm.

For the first time, that smirking look slips. “It’s all worthless anyway,” he says.

Hob grits his teeth. The stupidest thing is, even for someone who doesn’t care about Dream himself, Dream’s art is objectively not worthless. Hob had looked it up once. Dream’s paintings sell for thousands of pounds. Sometimes tens of thousands. It’s not just Dream’s passion that he’s so jealous and disparaging about, but his livelihood, his basic ability to support himself.

“Are you going to let me take it?” he says. “Or are we going to have a problem?”

Ex-boyfriend looks annoyed—and uncomfortable?—but finally just gestures Hob in. “Fine. Whatever.”

Inside, the flat is… kind of cold. It’s not homey. He can’t imagine Dream living here; he can barely imagine Dream living in his own flat, which is likewise utterly empty of decoration. But there are spots on the wall, here, that are empty in a more conspicuous way. Like Dream’s art might once have hung there.

Hob doesn’t know the entirety of what he’s looking for, but he thinks he’ll be able to identify most of Dream’s things by sight. And indeed—with Dream’s ex trailing him like an irritable ghost—he finds some of what must be Dream’s clothes in the closet, and Dream’s sketchbooks and books and paperwork all stacked in boxes. Like they’d been on their way out.

So much for “he’s definitely coming back.”

Dream’s ex doesn’t stop him as he packs stuff up and gathers it by the door. But as Hob looks at what he’s managed to collect, there’s obviously something missing. Pieces that were still drying and pieces that were too large to carry, Dream had said, when speaking of what he'd left behind.

“Where’s the rest of his art?”

Now ex-boyfriend does look uncomfortable. A sinking feeling settles in Hob’s stomach. “Why would I keep that shit, anyway? I told you, it’s worthless."

“It’s not worthless,” Hob snaps, but this time his voice breaks. He scrubs a hand through his hair. Looks at the empty spaces on the wall.

He tries to imagine what happened. Did he just toss it all? Coldly? Methodically? No, Hob doesn’t think so. If he had he would have just gotten rid of the rest of Dream’s stuff, too.

What he can imagine is a fit of rage, with his real target, Dream, having fled, and only the supposed distraction, his life’s work, left behind.

Dream's ex-boyfriend is watching him warily. He seems nervous about what Hob might do, like Hob is an unpredictable animal. Good. Maybe he'll understand how Dream's felt. “You got what you came for,” he says. “Just go.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to decide if I'm going to kill you first.”

Dream’s ex takes a startled step back. And Hob really, really wants to just fucking bash this guy’s head in. But he has to restrain himself. Not just because he doesn’t want to get arrested for assault, though that’s also better avoided.

No. It’s really that he doesn’t want to be another violent man in Dream’s life.

As satisfying as it was to throw that first punch in Dream’s defense, making it physical now would be a different matter. If he shows that he’s capable of resorting to real violence to get what he wants, or to punish someone for something, Dream is always going to have that in the back of his head when he looks at him. There will always be a tiny corner of his brain harboring the fear that that impulse could turn on him.

He’s already kind of pushing boundaries by being here at all, and only getting away with it because Dream didn’t actually tell him not to go, just that he himself didn’t want to. God his blood is heated and this asshole definitely deserves to be taught a lesson but it’s not worth putting a crack in Dream’s trust in him.

“You’re lucky I care more about what he thinks of me,” he finally says. Then he gathers all of Dream’s stuff, and makes himself leave. Dream’s ex, wisely, doesn’t say anything else as he goes.

—

Dream is in the middle of trying to paint when Hob arrives. Or rather, in the middle of staring at a canvas, wishing he could paint. He’d bought a large canvas in the hopes that he might try to do something in his old style, something more detailed and precise. But he’s been too intimidated by the prospect to even begin mixing colors.

He keeps finding himself staring at all the empty space in his flat, at walls that should be hung with art. But he doesn’t have any of his large pieces left. They were all sold prior to… the incident… or left behind. He only has the smaller ones that were in his portfolio.

He’s been finding himself regretting selling those pieces. He had never been bothered by it before, but now he wants to track down the buyers and beg for them back. But he won't. Some of those paintings had sold for tidy sums, which is the reason he can afford this flat despite not having a steady job. And he has no guarantee of being able to sell something at that rate again.

He at least has photographs of everything he’s ever sold. The same can’t be said of what he’d kept for himself, or left unfinished.

He startles at the knock on the door, but remembers: Hob said he would come over today.

He still hasn’t been able to shake the need to block the door whenever he’s home, so he has to shove aside a bookcase before he can let Hob in. When he opens the door, Hob is carrying a box, and wearing a pained smile. “Here,” he says, giving it to Dream. “I have more in the car.”

He disappears back down the stairs before Dream can question him, and Dream sets the heavy box down on the kitchen island.

It’s full of his sketchbooks.

For several moments he just stares at them, not daring to touch. How did Hob— did he go to Dream’s flat?

Hob comes back with another two boxes, precariously balanced, while Dream is still staring at the first one. These, it seems, are full of documents, and personal effects, and some of his favorite books.

“How—?” he tries to ask, nearly struck dumb.

“I went to your house,” Hob says. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have. But you deserve to have your things.”

At first, he is only shocked to think that someone would go to such lengths for him. Then, Dream feels a surge of hope. Perhaps—

But. No. Of all things, Hob would have known to grab his artwork. He would have lead with that.

“…Oh,” Dream says quietly, looking down.

“Yeah,” Hob says, face falling. “I’m so sorry, Dream, that’s all that was there— I mean I still have some of your clothes in the car, but—”

“I love you,” Dream says, tearing up. Hob actually went back. To get his things. Even when Dream said it wasn’t worth doing.

When he looks up again, Hob looks stunned. And only then does Dream realize what he’s said. He swallows nervously, but he doesn’t want to take it back. It doesn’t matter if he truly meant that he’s in love with Hob. Because either way, he loves Hob. And no one has ever loved him like this, like it was easy. And without question.

“I—” Hob stammers. “I mean it’s really not—”

Dream takes his hands and squeezes them, and Hob stops talking. “It is,” Dream says. “It is a big deal. To me.”

“Well,” Hob finally manages, voice still tight. “I want you to be happy, Dream. You deserve that.”

It’s not a sentiment Dream is used to hearing directed towards him. But hearing it from Hob makes him feel like… maybe it can be. Maybe it should be.

Dream kisses him, still holding his hands. He feels himself smile into the kiss. Another thing he’s not used to doing, but it feels good.

Hob smiles too, as he cradles Dream’s face between his hands. And even though Hob wasn’t able to recover his art, even though his ex probably destroyed it—which is agonizing to think about—in this one moment, Dream is… happy.

It's so strange that it almost hurts. But he thinks he’s actually happy.

#we're in the final stretches of this fic #this fic that was supposed to be a oneshot XD #physical therapy fic #dreamling #my writing #cw abuse

[suzukiblu]

Day seven of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Kon zips up to Tim, puts the little clay goat in his hands with a quick "hold this," because he is clearly not aware of how the oils on people's hands can damage this kind of thing or concerned about how magic or cursed it may or may not be, and deals with the panicked thieves. Tim shakes the sleeves of his jacket down over his hands to hold the goat more carefully and watches attentively as Kon tosses them all into a pile and then ties them up with a combination of TTK and velvet divider ropes. Tim would not typically use velvet divider ropes as restraints, but imagines that choice probably works better with telekinetic reinforcement behind it.

Actually, it definitely does, because Kon just whapped Lisa upside the back of the head with a loose end of the heavy velvet divider rope when she started trying to squirm free. 

"Ow!" she yells indignantly. 

"How's that whole 'the idol will protect us!' thing going for you now?" Kon asks curiously. 

"You don't know the shape of its blessing!" Mark snarls, attempting to kick him. The effort is futile and pathetic and also pretty stupid, since if he actually managed to hit Kon he'd probably just break his foot on him, but whatever, not Tim's problem. 

"The shape of its blessing is a cute goat and a jail cell," Kon says. 

"We should probably find a staff member to take this, on that note," Tim says, glancing around for one. There's got to be somebody. The guards are an option, he guesses, once Kon gets around to untying them. But he definitely should not still be holding this goat, even with his sleeves tucked over his hands and him being as careful as he reasonably can about it. 

Seriously. Somewhere a museum curator is crying and doesn't even know why. 

"Oh, sure," Kon says. The guards' restraints all simultaneously fall off. Unfortunately, none of them happen to be wearing gloves or have sleeves as long as Tim's, so that's going to be an issue. 

"Thanks," Tim says anyway.

"Eh, it was nothing," Kon replies with a shrug. "Literally, this whole situation was nothing. Like, this situation was the opposite of a situation. Nothing even happened." 

And then Tim just . . . has an idea, almost. Or at least the nucleus of one. 

"You did save my life, actually," he points out, making his tone politely appreciative but also carefully casual. 

"No offense, but I save a lot of people's lives, that doesn't really stick out in my day-to-day activities," Kon says. 

"I don't know, it stuck out a bit for me," Tim says, and Kon laughs. 

"Okay, fair," he says, flashing him a grin. "You're not actually hurt or anything, right? Eardrum didn't rupture when the gun went off?" 

"Doubt it," Tim says. Frankly he's unspeakably lucky that it didn't, but Kon's TTK probably did block at least some of the sound. 

He really didn't know Kon could use it like this, to be honest. Kon cracks out his TTK every chance he gets and brags the whole time he does, obviously, but Tim's never seen him manipulate it quite this way. 

It occurs to him to wonder if that means it's a new trick, or if Kon just always wraps up hostages or threatened civilians in his aura like that and just never mentions it. It seems likelier it'd be a new trick, considering literally everything he knows about Kon and his desperate and unsubtle need for validation and attention, but Kon was so unshakeably confident in the move–and not in a brash or blustering way, but in an obvious, matter-of-fact certainty. Like he'd done it a thousand times and it hadn't failed him yet. 

Tim should definitely figure out a way to follow up on that later. 

"Cool," Kon says, then looks around the gallery again. Tim feels oddly bereft without his immediate focus. 

Stupid, stupid inadvisable crush. Ugh. Bats don't want to be the center of anyone's attention unless they're deliberately drawing fire away from someone else. Tim definitely doesn't want to be the center of anyone's attention. 

Except, apparently, for Kon's. 

This incident report is going to be nothing but lies. Filthy, shameless lies.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young just us #young justice #rinfic #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

[piratefalls]

new list, new year, (trying out a) new header, new post day. i'm back after a nice little vacation where i got almost zero reading done, so no one is more surprised by the amount of holiday fic here than me.

list one. list two. list three. list four. list five. list six. list seven. list eight. list nine.

No Consequences by AnchoredArchangel

"I sort of came out as bisexual to both Nora and myself when we were watching that fucking snoozefest of a Royal Wedding years ago, and I told her with no hesitation that you were on my list.” Suddenly, Henry looks very present in this previously one-sided conversation, eyes boring into him even if he sounds a little choked as he clarifies, “I was on-” “My No Consequences sex list,” Alex confirms brazenly, “Yeah." Or: During an inadvisable spot of dating years back, Alex and Nora made a game out of making extensive lists of celebrities they could hook up with without it being cheating. One breakup and several years later, Alex meets someone on his list for the very first time at a charity gala and decides it's appropriate to tell him all about it.

Wash a Bad Day Away by stellarmeadow

Alex has a bad day and needs to drown it in a tub.

this year I will fall by railmedaddy

Henry has many regrets in his life, but leaving the ice rink after a literal run in with the potential love of his life without even obtaining his name may be his biggest. With his family visiting for the holidays for the first time and ever-present work deadlines looming, he's too busy to think about how to engineer his own happy ending worthy of the novels he edits. But what if fate has other ideas?

the mountchristen pharma job by coffeecatsme

The alarm blares. Still, the man slides the key again and enters the room. He closes the door behind him, flips the flash drive in his palm. Walks to the room that’s supposed to be empty, the room they made sure was clear before they made their move. Except it’s not. And the man recognizes that head of blonde hair all too well. Henry fucking Fox-Mountchristen. Six years ago, Mountchristen Pharma's reckless actions caused Rafael Luna's death. Alex and June want to make it right, but they're not the only ones.

Take a Trip Into My Garden by @sparklepocalypse

Alex groans. From the sound of things, he’s in no better state than Henry. “Why in the absolute fuck does your family have a fucking Viagra orchid?” (A sex pollen fic that takes place on the grounds of Kensington Palace between the Cornetto scene and the interview blitz.)

you could call me babe for the weekend by weather_stained

It's been three years since Ellen Claremont lost the 2016 Presidential Election, and Alex hasn't seen Prince Henry since the Rio Olympics. When Alex, June, and Nora take a post-finals trip to a Vermont ski resort, Henry and his best friend Pez are the last people they expect to see waiting in line for the chairlift.  To Alex's great displeasure, Nora and June end up quite takenwith Pez, and Alex is forced to spend time with Henry. In one weekend, they become closer than he could have ever imagined.

come away with me by rizcriz

Alex closes the door behind himself and turns into his tiny apartment with an exhausted sigh. As he turns to flip the lightswitch, the subtle sound of fabric rustling hits his ears; carefully, he unclips his gun at his waist band, flips the light switch, and turns around, pulling the gun on the intruder. He nearly drops it at the sight of a familiar head of shining blond hair. “What the fuck?” Alex asks, taking a step in, and reaching with his free hand into his holster for the pair of cuffs he knows he clipped in this morning. “Intel said you were in London.” Henry Fox, international thief and conman, tilts his head where he’s sitting in Alex’s favorite armchair. “Honestly, Alex,” he says, waving a hand. “Put the gun away. We both know you’re not going to shoot me.” “Fuck you,” Alex hisses on impulse. “Put your hands up.” -- or Con Man Henry and Interpol Agent Alex

(Dil)Do It Yourself by happinessofthepursuit

“Listen,” Nora starts, turning her body once more so that she’s sitting sideways in the chair with her legs thrown across the armrest. “I did the math. There’s a 79% chance you’re gonna become a slut to the power of the prostate, and while we’re not dating anymore, it’s my duty as your fellow slutty bisexual to get this party started.” Or, when Nora drags Alex to a holiday dildo workshop, he doesn’t expect to find someone to use it with.

Gonna Give You Something (So You Know What's on My Mind) by affectionatelyrs

Alex hums, turning around to pull open the freezer drawer. “You want anything?” But Henry barely registers his question. Not when Alex is slightly bent over, allowing Henry a perfect view of his perfect ass. Each individual ridge of his spine is visible due to his lack of shirt. All of these things combined would normally be a large enough issue in itself to render Henry dumbstruck, except— Except, that’s not the only thing that Henry’s faced with. Right there, clear as day: blue lace, delicately peeking out from the waistband of his joggers. Henry’s hand immediately flies up to his cheek. The skin is hot to the touch, and he feels the imprint of where the material once lay like a brand. - Or, With the help of a white elephant gift, Henry learns that maybe the whole being-in-love-with-his-roommate thing isn’t as one-sided as he thought

i've forgotten if they're green or they're blue by metacrisis

When the worst snowstorm New York city has had since the Great Blizzard of 1947 snows Alex and Henry into their Brownstone, Alex falls into a bizarre dream and awakens in a world much like his own. Only it seems like he's suddenly five inches shorter, five years younger and why is Henry the only person who can tell? AKA, Movie Alex falls into Bookverse before he and Henry get together.

Ho for the Holidays by @whimsymanaged

“Listen, don’t worry about this,” Henry says quickly, already mentally crafting the passive-aggressive text he’s going to send Pez. “Better luck next year. I’ll just be off—“ “Hold your damn horses.” Alex stops Henry with a fast, surprisingly gentle hand to his wrist. His eyebrows furrow. “What did you put on your questionnaire?” Henry’s ears go hot. “That’s none of your business.” Alex scoffs and leans in closer. “Baby, we matched. It’s safe to say we have at least some interests in common. Be honest—was it because you confessed to having a secret desire to slap me?” Or, Pez organizes an event called Ho for the Holidays, and these two idiots get paired up.

Waiting in the Wings by DracoWillHearAboutThis

Henry had always known he would end up in an arranged marriage.  He had not expected, though, to end up in an arranged marriage with Prince Alex Claremont-Diaz, who he'd secretly been in love with for the past fifteen years.

Fill My Stocking by songliili

Alex has spent the past fifteen minutes talking with David about his favourite treats. Not that the dog answered, but Alex was undeterred and kept going, uncaring that Henry had asked him to give him an hour and then he’d join him in hanging up fairy lights and mistletoe everywhere. Very well. If Alex wants Henry’s attention, he'll have it. It's probably not what Alex thought he’d accomplish with his little scheme, but it's a compromise between Henry's needs and Alex's wants, and that's all that can be done. OR: Alex wants some attention and Henry has to get creative.

Here With Me by SatinBirds

When Zahra asks, “Would it make any difference at all if I told you not to see him again?”, it’s the easiest thing for Alex to categorically answer, “No.”

because it's Tuesday by headabovethewater

Right, so, here’s the thing; Alex hasn’t shaved in a while. He’s been so consumed by stress for his exams, his thesis, the post-election work he’s been doing for Ellen… It’s been a bit much for Alex, and while Henry is impressed by the fact that he’s able to keep himself standing and functioning, he has noticed that the scruff on his face has increased. A lot. Oh, Henry has noticed, alright.

i want to mark my skin (it is paper thin) by violetbaudelairequagmire

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subj: Tattoo Reference Attached: 1 file (orionsketch.jpg) Hello, Attached you’ll find a line art drawing of the constellation Orion. The shoulder blade is the intended location. Best, H.J. Fox OR: It's a Tattoo Shop AU!

Can't Buy Me Love by everwitch

Alex is a high end escort. Henry is his wealthiest client. He's also a total asshole, which Alex has zero patience for. He'd never let a client walk all over him like that, not even one with striking features and an air of firm authority that Alex has to keep reminding himself he’s not attracted to. But over time, Alex learns there's more to Henry than fiery insults and cruel dismissal. So much more. Alex is in so much fucking trouble. He should end things with Henry before he gets burned. (He couldn't end things with Henry if he got paid for it.)

He Was Here With Me by absoluteaudacity

Arthur lives: a wishlist

(Door)Dash to the Heart by bleedingballroomfloor

The man looks up when Henry opens the door. "Henry?" Henry clears his throat. "That's me," he manages. "Cool," the man says. "You're making me hungry for breakfast with this order, man. Which is bad for me, because my breakfast is usually just coffee, and there's no way I can drink that this late." "Uh," Henry says. He's pretty sure dashers don't talk this much during orders. "Anyway," the man says, handing the bag of food to Henry, "enjoy your night." Five times Henry gets late-night food from his insanely hot DoorDasher Alex, and one time they get food together at a normal time.

(here's my number) so call me, maybe by villageidiot

"I could go a few days without contact, you know." Henry looks over at Alex, who's splayed across the couch, and places a finger on the page he's reading to keep his place. "I'm…sorry?" "While you're gone, I mean. I could handle a few days of not talking to you." Henry still looks a little baffled. "Is this something you want to do? I'm still unclear on the 'why' here." And so is Alex, honestly. or: five times Alex fails at the whole "go a whole weekend with no contact" thing (and one time Henry does)

the beagle, the ghost and the wardrobe by stutteringpeach

Henry’s new flat comes with one unexpected feature: it’s already inhabited. But not by a human. By a ghost.

Night Class by OrchidScript

Alex how found the simplest solution for all the facts he had been presented. There were plenty of them to make sense of. Alex was taking the path of least resistance, accepting that whatever remained after all was stripped away must be the truth. June could laugh at him for the rest of time if she wanted. He was right. He knew he was right. He had to be right because nothing else on earth or in the universe made sense. Henry Fox — his smarmy, entitled, wealthy, bland, irritating neighbor — was a vampire. Alex knew it. He could prove it.

Piss-up in a brewery by clottedcreamfudge

"I hate this," Alex says, not for the first time, and Henry covers his face with his hands. "Yes," he says, a little muffled, "that's coming across." "It's not, like, personal," Alex clarifies, even though it fucking is. "I just don't really like sleeping with other people. I mean, sleeping in beds with other people. I like having sex-" "Yes, alright," Henry says peevishly, not moving his hands at all. "You needn't extol further on your love of intercourse." "Who the fuck talks like that?"

Sleepless Nights by stripyjumpers

Henry's insomnia has been getting worse. He thinks it's fine, until it all finally catches up to him.

move fast (and keep quiet) by HypnosTherapy

Henry’s smile goes slightly strained at the edges. In his ear, Nora hisses at Alex to walk away. He firmly ignores her. “What brings you here tonight, Foxy?” Henry brushes Alex’s hand off him. “The same thing that brings us all here,” he answers. “Not only a girl’s best friend, after all.” -- Alex is a spy tasked with securing a case of diamonds being auctioned off by black market smugglers. Henry is a rival spy who happens to be tasked with receiving the same case of stones. When Henry wins the auction, Alex has to retrieve his target, no matter the cost.

Red Light Indicates Doors Are Secured by myheartalive

“Fox,” he hisses through his teeth. “How about you take the tube tonight? Or go for a nice long walk?” Henry’s stunned. “Excuse me?” “Yep, I will excuse you. Now do us both a favour and find another way to get home.” — OR enemy co-workers Henry and Alex get unwillingly shoved into a cab together (and finally sort their issues out)

the best intentions by smc_27

He sees the flyer when he’s in town picking up the fabric and books June wanted from the market. Once a year. On the prince’s birthday. The chance for his one true love to rescue him from the tower. A cash prize to go along with the prince’s hand in marriage. The title of Prince Consort and a palace of their own. Alex knows himself. He knows how people are with him. He’s made people fall in love with him without even trying for it. He’s had to break hearts since he was 15 and Charlotte Marks told her father she was going to marry Alex. He can get some cloistered prince on board.

A Life, in Names by th0ughts

Macsomething continues to flounder. “I arrived just as someone came out, you see. A woman, with the hot pink jacket? I told her that I’m Roy Maclanahan—” (bingo. Henry knew it was Maclanahan.) “—here for Mr. Claremont-Diaz, I work with him you see. He invited me over, to look through some documents? And she told me that I was in luck, that he was home.  “Either way I am so sorry to have disturbed you your hi—Henry. She must’ve been mistaken. I’ll take my leave and return when your husband’s arrived.” Maclanahan is wringing his hands and looks just about a second away from nervously combusting but the entire ordeal has Henry’s face blooming in a smile.  _____ Musings of a life, in four surnames.

In my dreams (In your dreams) by lizzie_bennetdarcy

He opens his mouth to tell Alex it's fine, they can stay, when Alex shakes his head. "The room is spinning. That's not fun. Alright, sweetheart, let's go home." He jumps up from the stool, and immediately lists sideways into Henry. "What will it take to get you to carry me home?" "More than you're prepared to give, I'm afraid." Kiss me, marry me, have my children, please. Alex is very drunk, and very affectionate, and it's becoming increasingly difficult for Henry to pretend like he isn't completely in love with him.

when he breaks so beautifully by viciouslyqueer

Henry thinks it’s just been a rough day – it certainly wouldn’t be the first time – but he only realizes just how wrong he is when his boyfriend actually gets home. Slumped shoulders. Twitching fingers. Red-rimmed eyes glistening with tears. Henry’s heart breaks on sight. — Alex has a rough day at work and asks Henry to be mean to him. Henry praises him instead.

Twenty Seven Batters by politics_and_prose

A ballplayer will refuse to stop playing because they want one more hit, steal, strikeout. One more homerun. One more win. So they get old and they lose their skill and embarrass themselves long after they should have hung up their spikes. If that’s the rule, then Alexander Claremont-Diaz is the exception. Because today, at age 38, Alexander Claremont-Diaz is six outs away from a perfect game.

forever yrs, for evermore by indomitablelove

‘Wake up,’ Henry whispers. Alex turns and squints his eyes open. He looks at the clock. ‘Baby, why the fuck are you waking me up at six am? I’m on vacation.’ ‘I’ve got a surprise, come outside. You can go back to bed after, I promise,’ Henry tells him with a smile. ‘I’ve made you coffee.’ Alex sits up with a squint and a stern, unimpressed look on his face. ‘You better have a fucking good reason for getting me up at sunrise.’ --- or, a lake house proposal fic

Aged Like a Fine Wine by allmylovesatonce

At a gala for the Okonjo Foundation, Senator Alex Claremont-Diaz runs into Prince Henry of Wales for the first time in two years. Something is different about him, and it's not just the revelations that came out the last time the two saw each other. When they're encouraged to spend more time together, it lights a spark that could send both of their lives into a tailspin. Will Alex resist the temptation or will he find the courage to pursue what he's wanted far longer than he's let himself acknowledge?

All our Sweetest Hours Fly Fastest by AHistoricDistraction

It has been three years since they were outted and Henry and Alex have finally settled into a groove that works well for them, except for the fact that it feels like they're always having to steal time together. Queen Mary constantly coming up with excuses to get Henry out of public events with Alex isn't helping, and Alex is done with it. After a long conference in Tokyo that Henry couldn't attend, Alex's flight home being delayed is the last straw and he calls Henry to say they need to figure out a better way to do this, to which Henry agrees. But fate has other ideas. Alex's flight goes missing somewhere over the Pacific, no trace of it to be found, leaving Henry and Alex's family struggling to not lose hope while unable to do anything.

as always, let me know if you want to be tagged, either for author purposes or just to know when these go up! see you next tuesday!

tagging: @starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels

#rwrb #rwrb rec list #firstprince #red white and royal blue #rwrb fanfiction #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor

[sophiasharp]

Actually I’m gonna expand on Mountain being more of a forest cryptid than we all already thought because this idea tickles me so much.

Because imagine your Terzo. You’re probably still a cardinal when your eldest brother asks you to summon a new earth ghoul for him since his health’s getting too bad to do everything by himself these days, including summoning his own ghouls.

And you say sure, why not. You love your brother like the father you should have had. You’d do anything for him

Only when you complete the ritual, the ghoul doesn’t come out. It stays on the other side of the veil, refusing to leave.

Well, tough titties, your brother’s garden won’t maintain itself, so you do something truly inadvisable and pull on the magic tether between yourself and the ghoul down in the pit and fucking HAUL this son of a bitch up.

Only once you’re done, you’ve realized you’ve fucked up severely Because whatever you’ve just pulled up, it isn’t a ghoul. You’re not sure what it is, actually. It’s a constantly shifting form of… something. Its limbs look like it could be both bipedal and quadrupedal but other than that and being tall, it had no distinctive look. Or, perhaps, it had too many, as the longer you stared at it the more it’s body seemed to morph and change: covered in fur one moment, armored in bark the next, seemingly MADE of moss the second after.

It looks at you and says in a voice like sliding gravel “For what have you dared to pull me from my home, little man?”

And you, instead of sending that thing back to the pit faster than Copia hiding his rats from Sister Imperator, look up at this colossal force or nature and go “hey there big guy, ever wanted a vacation?”

“… a what?”

3 hours later and Primo now has a very tall, very strange, but very polite and easygoing ghoul trailing behind him as he explains what each of the plants in his garden need to thrive.

He calls himself Mountain. Some days you wonder if that name is more literal than most believe.

#the band ghost #ghost the band #ghost band #band ghost #ghost bc #ghostbc #papa emertius #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus terzo #papa Terzo #papa emeritus I #papa emeritus primo #papa primo #nameless ghoul #the nameless ghouls #nameless ghoul mountain #sharp’s headcanons #tagging the papas is so fun. it’s like finding every possible combination of words and you’ll STILL be missing one somehow #anyway Mountain is a fucking nightmare creature here on earth cause Terzo convinced him it would be fun #he’s been right thus far #give or take some murder of loved ones #aaaaand this is why we can’t have nice things

[itsmoonpeaches]

Title: Storge

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial

Word count: 1,004

Rating: G

Summary: As the quest concludes and the war ends, Poseidon is left with the truth and the realization that Percy means more to him than he knew.

Also available on ao3.

Camp Half-Blood celebrated. The night sky bloomed with multicolored fireworks. And amid the cacophony, the gods discovered the truth.

At Zeus’s command, Athena had called for a meeting with the whole council to end the war between him and Poseidon. But now Olympus shuddered with war’s echoes once again.

“So much for a swift and crushing victory, eh dad?” sneered Ares. He leaned back on his throne, the ancient stone pressed against the back of his leather trench coat.

“Silence,” Zeus ordered with a scowl. Thunder rumbled above them. “Your role in this has not been forgotten.” His irises swirled with storm clouds. He propped himself up, resting his arms on the circular marble table that the Olympians sat around. “We must decide what to do with Luke Castellan.”

Poseidon watched the proceedings with feigned indifference. He clenched his fists beneath the table and felt the leftover prickle of electricity dance across his fingertips. Even for a god as prominent as he, stopping Zeus’s Master Bolt with his bare hands was a harrowing experience. It was not often that gods held onto another’s symbol of power.  

Across from him, Hermes twitched. His face shuttered.

“He is lost to us,” answered Athena with the authoritative tone he always recognized. She looked like that girl who went on the quest with Perseus except she was taller with narrower, more angular features. She had the same dark curls, but never wore her hair down. It was slicked back into a tight knot and accentuated her calculating gray eyes. “He eludes us with the power of his sword, and that puts him under Kronos’s protection. It is inadvisable to deduce where the portals will take him with so little information.”

Zeus frowned.

Athena clicked her tongue. “We must decide what to do with the other one…Poseidon’s spawn. Perseus Jackson.”

Poseidon straightened. The quake inside his chest threatened to release the force he held back. Long Island’s shores were bombarded with waves. “Enough,” he growled. He unclenched his fists. His trident crackled in its sheath attached to his throne.

The council quieted. Athena narrowed her eyes.

Zeus grunted, folding his arms as he glared. “I will not renege on the prize I have awarded the boy if he does not cause a disturbance,” he said. “I refuse to be indebted to a half-blood.” He lifted the Master Bolt. Its energy reverberated from the floors to the Corinthian columns that enclosed them. “He has returned what is mine. For now, we watch him.”

Poseidon thought to relax, but that was before Apollo with his sunny grin and even sunnier disposition, decided to interrupt.

“My Oracle spoke,” Apollo started with a singsong tune that grated on Poseidon’s nerves. “This may be the Prophecy. We must prepare soon.”

Poseidon sucked in a steadying breath. A new squall formed near Australia’s Shipwreck Coast.

Artemis rolled her eyes. “Not everything needs to be said in haiku, brother,” she admonished. The silver in her hair gleamed like the moon.

Poseidon sighed. The tension in his shoulders never lessened. “Perseus is not yet sixteen,” he said. “Leave him be.”

“We will get nothing done talking in circles. I have duties to attend to,” Zeus added. He nodded to Athena. “Finish this.”

The meeting adjourned. The gods flashed away, vanishing to tend to their domains. But Poseidon lingered. He had not moved. He stared at a pearl he rolled in his palm.

“Do you ever dream about mom?”

His son’s voice rushed into his head like an endless current. Perseus’s eyes were so much like his own, so much more than he had imagined. Poseidon had not answered his question. He had not forgotten.

He clutched the pearl tight and stood, trident in hand.

“He is your weakness, the boy.” Someone disrupted the silence.

Poseidon turned.

Athena observed him from the pathway that led to the rest of Olympus’s sprawling city. “If you are not careful, he will become a liability to you.”

He inclined his head. “What's this?” he asked with a sardonic smirk. “The goddess of wisdom and battle strategy giving me advice?”

“It is simply an observation.”

“An observation I do not crave.”

Athena scoffed. “You surrendered for him,” she replied. “You lost the war for that boy. He is nothing more than a blip in our eternity. What will happen in the future when there is more at stake? What will you choose, your son or the Fifth Age?”

He parted his lips, but no answer came. Athena departed down the path. He was alone.

He walked to the edge of the council room, intent on watching what remained of the fireworks below. Even from here, he could see them. If he concentrated, he could hear the laughter of the demigods and smell their offerings scraped into the bonfire. Most of them did not know what had transpired yet.

He only wished Perseus was spared betrayal.

The hearth that occupied the edge of the room snapped. Out of the warmth appeared the form of a little girl in drab robes.  

“Hestia,” he said with a slight bow. “I am sorry to disturb you. I will soon depart.”

“You are lost,” she remarked. She always sounded so much younger than she was. “You are thinking of him…of your family.”

“You are my family,” he countered.

She smiled and offered her right hand. “Take my hand.”

With caution, he took it.

As soon as they touched, images flooded his mind. He saw Sally Jackson. She pressed her forehead to their son’s. The sunlight dappled the rivulets of her hair and brightened Perseus’s blue eyes.

He saw Perseus in his cabin at camp, running his fingers along the water in the fountain, a pensive look on his face. On his neck, he wore a new bead on the necklace Chiron had given him. Painted against black was a delicate sea-green trident.

When Poseidon remembered himself, Hestia was gone. The visions tucked away inside him.

“Yes,” he whispered into nothing. “I do dream of you.”

#pjo #pjo tv show #pjo tv show spoilers #poseidon #percy #sally jackson #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians #itsmoonpeaches fanfic #flash fiction friday #fff238 #take my hand #pjo series #posally

[merakiui]

Hello!!! I've been following you for a while, but this is my first ask >.< but I saw your friends with benefits dialog post and couldn't help thinking of reader being in a fwb situation with any of the octotrio (I personally like to think jade) with the dialog from reader being "i didn't know who else to call. you're all i've got right now." I like to think the octotrio are very protective, especially if they have developed feelings for the reader. Like, imagine that there is some dude that just won't leave reader alone and they don't feel safe. Just the thought of them taking us in and taking care of our "problem" has me orz

o o o o oo oooo overprotective Jade........ this is such a good thought, anon!!

(fwb dialogues)

When you see him, it's like the snow has melted away and flowers have sprung from cold, cracked earth. Jade Leech is, by all accounts, the last person you'd ever want to see after your inadvisable run-ins with him, but he's reliable. A little too reliable, admittedly. He looks like he rushed to get here, his coat buttoned haphazardly and his hat placed crookedly on his head. It's hard to believe the always-patient, ever-so-perfect Jade could forget to uphold that façade after your brief phone call.

For a short while, the both of you stare at the other. A frigid breeze blows between you, and you push past the few passersby on the pathway to reach him. He's in the process of saying something, but it's your arms thrown around him that abruptly cut him off. Relieved tears gather in your eyes, and you hold on tightly.

"I... I didn't know who else to call. You're all I've got right now," you whisper into his wool coat. "Sorry. I know you're busy."

Jade's arms close around you in reciprocation. "I'll always make time for you."

You're not used to this treatment. Neither is he. You've only ever known surface-level physicality. Emotions have always been shelved in favor of indulging in fleeting, present-day pleasures. You never go any deeper than you must.

Tonight's different.

Still reeling, nerves frazzled, you relay the story in a shaky mumbling. "I went to dinner with a classmate and we were only going to talk about the semester project, but then he started... It just got weird and I hid in the bathroom, and I had no idea what to do. Without thinking I called you and you answered and... And—"

Jade rubs soothing circles into your back. His touch is soothing, grounding you in the moment. It smooths out all of the icky feelings you'd previously been at war with, replacing every frightened imagining with something bright and beautiful.

"There's no need to push yourself. I understand the story well enough."

"Thanks..." You sniffle and slowly draw away, patting his coat for good measure. "For coming, I mean. I really didn't think you would."

Jade frowns. "I wouldn't ignore you in your time of need."

"Yes, you would—" You stop yourself. He's never once left a message on read. He always returns missed phone calls. And now, holding you in his arms, he's come to your aid.

Despite everything—all of the pointless promises for something with no strings attached—he cares. He always has and he always will.

"Ah. Um. Then I guess I owe you one."

Jade's mismatched eyes flick from you to the restaurant and then back. An emotion you can't quite decipher passes over his face, and he seems to be assessing something in silence. Eventually, his expression clears and he offers you a cordial smile.

"I assume you haven't eaten yet?"

"Are you kidding? Of course not! I can't go back in there and eat with that creep!"

His smile widens, and for once you trust that more than you've ever trusted anything before.

"Well, if you aren't opposed to it, we could get dinner at one of my favorite places. It's not too far from here. My treat."

You stare at him, shocked. This is new. You've never gone to dinner with him before. "Wait, really? You're serious?"

"There's no punchline to my words. So, yes, I'm quite serious."

"And you're not just asking because you want sex?"

Jade's lips drop into a disappointed moue. It's an expression you've yet to see on him. "Your lack of faith in me is woefully astounding. Must I wear a collar for you to recognize my loyalty?"

You roll your eyes, shoving him playfully. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. You're being honest." Heaving an exhausted breath, you slide out of his arms. "Okay, fine. Dinner sounds good."

He perks up, visibly pleased. "In that case, please wait here. There's one minor issue I must see to and then we can be off."

"Huh? Where are you going?"

"To say hello to your classmate." His smile is no longer the soft, sweet thing it once was. Now it's razored with malice, and it fills his eyes with a scheming sort of darkness. "I won't be long."

"Right..."

Amidst the wintry air and the confusion, you feel strangely fuzzy inside. You're sure it's just a side effect of encroaching hypothermia. Definitely nothing else.

Mysteriously, your classmate drops out of the course and you're left to finish the project on your own. But perhaps that was for the best. When asked what he said, Jade feigns innocence and speaks in convenient embellishments. Best not to press the matter any further.

#twisted chit chat #meraki dialogues

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

M6 with an Mc who is obsessed with magic. There whole life revolves around it. There isn’t a second where they aren’t casting spells, Reading magic books, ranting about magical ingredients, and/or practicing rather dangerous magic. Everyday is a day filled with magic.

The Arcana Mini-HCs: With a magic-obsessed MC

Julian: terrified at first, because as far as he's come he's still uneasy around this stuff and you practically breathe it. ends up remembering everything you say anyways and becoming an accidental expert

Asra: they like it until it keeps you from resting or doing other fun things, and then they'll want you to put the books down and live a little. he does love trying out inadvisable magic ideas with you though

Nadia: truly impressed and has found another reason to respect you. you are clearly dedicated to and passionate about your craft and she deeply admires that. likes to help you build your library and resources

Muriel: he's a little put off by the intensity at first, but he comes to recognize the strength you have in your pursuits. happy to listen to you rant any time and often has helpful observations/perspective

Portia: you're exactly how she imagined a magician might be like and she really, really wants you to include her. let her read the books too. teach her that spell too. let her make potions too. she wants to learn!

Lucio: for the most part, it's just another strength of yours that he thinks is "the best" and likes to watch you practice. but he's also never gotten over his own magic inabilities so he might sulk a bit

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

[professorsparklepants]

various genderbent sanji headcanons in no particular order.

does not shave. extremely european about it. she's hot extremely dark body hair and all, thank you very much.

will show her legs with no problem but is actually surprisingly shy about the torso & bust area. could NEVER be nami. girl has everything hanging out and sanji has no idea how she works up the nerve.

definitely had an era of teenagerdom where every time she came down the stairs zeff went "YOUNG LADY WHAT ARE YOU WEARING" and turned purple. "how does this combine with the body shy headcanon" business casual with a microskirt, next question.

i read a fic where she wears pleated skirts because they're easy to kick in and i LOVE that. also adding that she wears either a. the high school cheerleader modesty shorts or b. those tights that are completely opaque from mid thigh up

has dogged inadvisable thirst over at least one man on every island.

her rare casual wear (yoga pants or short shorts) HAS caused men to walk into door frames.

you know michelle pfeiffer's curls in batman returns? yeah. this is personal but im incapable of not imagining her with curls. let the eyebrows match the curtains.

#lectures #one piece #genderbending

[queerfables]

So following this extremely silly conversation about Maggie being Crowley and Aziraphale's secret love child, @azfellandco and I got to talking about what having children, as a hypothetical concept, would actually mean to Crowley and Aziraphale.

We both agreed that we had very tender feelings about the generalised concept of Crowley and Aziraphale raising Warlock together, but that it was hard to imagine them actually wanting to parents. It's not something they relate to or feel they're missing out on. But like, maybe sometimes they wonder.

I'm posting this conversation with Mir's permission because I felt like we covered some really interesting ground.

@azfellandco: They've had every other human experience together and they have forever to keep having them, but part of the appeal of the raising warlock together subplot to me is that suddenly they both Don't have forever to be with each other and Also they're presented with this child that isn't theirs but (they think) isn't really Earth's either and it's like, what if. What if this Is the end, despite all their work, and what if they never got to have this? Sort of preemptive grief, I guess.

@queerfables: Oh yes, that's such a good way to put it!

I feel very strongly that having kids would Not Be For Them, and that whatever needs they have that might be filled by kids, they meet in other ways. I think there's a lot of crossover with the way they aid humans where they can, for one.

But I can ABSOLUTELY imagine them like. Thinking about it. And the world is coming to an end and they still can't tell each other even a fraction of the things they really want to. But they can have this. Not really theirs, but not really not. The way the world and humanity always was, I think.

@azfellandco: "Not really theirs but not really not, the way the world and humanity always was." Yeah, exactly this.

@queerfables: I definitely think we've hit on something there.

@azfellandco: It's also about like. The way in which the inability to do this preempts the ways in which it would be merely inadvisable. They can't have a serious talk about whether they would be good parents because it's impossible for them to have a child (by circumstances, by their roles in the war, by the oncoming apocalypse, by biology as far as they're aware). So what would be the point?

But the impossibility is also a source of grief. That they'll never have the conversation is a source of grief. And because they can't talk about it seriously, it never gets grounded in anything real. It's something they think about while knowing that the way they think about it is superficial and would dissolve in reality. And so it becomes a stand-in for the way they think about their relationship pre-armageddon, too. They'll never have an opportunity to test it to see if it would work. It remains ephemeral, something to fantasize about. But god, sometimes they want to Know.

@queerfables: Oof.

I think there's something there as well about like. Hmm. They can't love and care for a child the way a human would because they are not human. And yet even asking the question about this is SO human. There's just, there's no concept of parenthood for angels and demons. There's no concept of childhood (although there is perhaps a concept of innocence, and loss of innocence). So where does that put them, if they wanted to raise a child? Like you said, it's ephemeral and impossible.

What sort of child could they raise? There are no children among immortals. Would they raise a human, who might need things they can't give and who is going to live and grow old and die while they're still just - moving through the world the way they always have? The idea of never having a child is, for them, a phantom grief that's largely grounded in their fear of losing the world and each other and all the experiences they could have had. But to actually love a child they'll inevitably lose again, because there's just no alternative for two immortals raising a human, would open them up to real, tangible grief on a scale neither of them has ever truly imagined.

This is why, I guess, Warlock is such a perfect case for them to try it, to have something of what it's like. Because if their plan doesn't work (and maybe there's a part of them that never really thought it would, even though they hope with everything they have) then at least they won't have to live with grief of losing him, really, because they'll be losing everything including very likely their own lives.

@azfellandco: Yes yes yes to all of this, absolutely. And I think in growing to care for Warlock and think of him as theirs, there is this sense of like. Well, what do they want to be true? Do they want the world to go on, and them with it, and inevitably this little family they're playing at having will be something they have to reconcile with the reality of immortal existence? Or do they want (or at least expect) this to be a desperate, futile effort and that the world IS going to end? In a way, growing to love Warlock is the same kind of hiding in a story that Aziraphale's Jane Austen ball is, I think.

@queerfables: YES. I totally agree with you. And that's why I think they would never try to find Warlock again, after the world didn't end. None of it was really real, and it would hurt to be faced with that.

#good omens #good omens meta #fable talks good omens

[chrispineofficial]

This is likely inadvisable at this advanced hour, but I feel like you probably need something lighter in your inbox than the storms I can only see from the horizon. Please, regale your favorite aspect of Dean and Crowley as a divorced-but-still-amiable couple

anon i love you so much. imagine if you will: crowley as best man giving his speech at the destiel wedding

[kiseiakhun]

"Kyle," John says when Kyle flies into his office, which are just his living quarters on oa converted into a cubicle, but bigger. "You have-"

"Tits," Kyle says, framing his - her - his chest, fingers digging into the soft mounds of flesh protruding obtrusively through his paper thin uniform. Jesus, it really doesn't hide anything. "They're tits." He lifts them and lets them drop. They're not big enough to jiggle but they still - bounce. In the air.

"I see that," John says faintly, and somehow his voice remains level. It takes far more concentration than it should warrant for his gaze to remain professional when his eyes slide down, from Kyle's... chest, to his belly, to the newly protruding curve of his hips. "... why."

"Magic," Kyle says, sounding aggrieved. He pushes past John's door and looks around the room, hands on his new hips. "You still don't have a bed?"

"This is my office," John points out.

"This is your room. For you to crash in. You don't need an office. None of us need an office. Why don't you just build a new office, if you want one so bad? Mogo would let you." Kyle glances at the only other chair in John's office (room), unvarnished, uncushioned wood, and constructs an elaborate claw-footed loveseat to flop dramatically in. His tits jiggle with the movement. Maybe John should start wearing a mask, too, to make his staring less obvious. "I need a drink."

"You co-own a bar," John says, and then asks, carefully, "is the change permanent?"

"God, no." Kyle pushes his bangs out of his face and sighs, sagging further in his unnecessarily elaborate seat. "Can you imagine? I think Hal would go berserk."

"What does Hal have to do with-" John starts, and then stops. "You let him fuck you."

Kyle stares at him. He lifts his mask to make his staring more apparent, his big eyes looking softer, more rounded, narrowing in bewilderment. "Seriously?" he asks. "How the hell did you-" he makes a sharp, exasperated gesture with his hand. "It was freaky enough when Guy did it."

"Guy, too?" John lets a little judgement slip into his voice. Just a little.

"Don't you start with me." Kyle straightens up, dropping his mask back on his face like a suit of armor. "First, I need a drink."

"You co-own a bar," John points out, again, patiently.

Kyle makes a disgruntled noise. "Buy me a drink, John. Can't you take a hint?"

"You're not actually a girl, you know," John says, even as he's getting up from his seat and following Kyle out of his office (living quarters), valiantly keeping his eyes above Kyle's expanded backside, which was already plenty big to begin with.

"So what?" Kyle peeks over his shoulder. "Do you only show chivalry to girls now?"

John flies closer to him, putting a hand on his lower back. Kyle's skin is so warm, it's like he's not wearing anything at all. "What you need isn't chivalry," John says, leaning close like he's whispering a secret.

Kyle actually stutters in his flight, nearly making John smack into him. He rights himself in time, looking down at Kyle's pink-tinged ears as Kyle clears his throat. John's hand looks bigger now on Kyle than it did before. The... transformation... really did wonders on his ass. "Tell you what," Kyle says, interrupting John before he can do something inadvisable, "if you're better to me than Guy or Hal, I'll let you be as chivalrous as you want before this," he gestures at himself, "wears off."

John hums consideringly. "That's hardly a challenge."

"Right," Kyle says. "Then you should have no problem." He pulls back and looks at John through the blank white eyes of his mask. "Too bad you don't have a bed."

And he winks. John doesn't know how he knows Kyle is winking behind his mask, but he knows. He winks and then reaches down to take John's hand, thoughtlessly linking their fingers together, and continues towards Warriors with a cheeky swagger in his flight path.

Fine. John will play along, for now. Kyle is obviously enjoying the attention his temporary transformation is begetting him, and John might handle himself with more decorum compared to some others but at the end of the day he's still a man. With the ass like the one Kyle is sporting now, he can probably talk John into anything. He can ask John to paint his skin red and pretend to be Sinestro and John will go along with it and he will only feel a little ashamed of himself until he-

(Focus)

Forget about Hal. John feels like he might go insane.

"How long did you say this would last, again?" he asks Kyle.

"Dunno," Kyle replies. "Could be a week. Could be two."

A week. A fucking week. Or maybe two.

Maybe he should get a bed.

#JohnKyle #John Stewart #Kyle Rayner #Green lantern #writes #genderbend #John doesn't have a bed because he's like it's unnecessary #there are so many rooms on oa. i could just crash in a random one when i need sleep #usually he uses Hal's because Hal is never around #John 🤝 Kyle shamelessly sleeping in Hal's bed not in an euphemistic way but in a communism™ way #kilowog would be proud #anyway John bends Kyle over in Warriors in front of Guy and Hal because they kept alluding to getting in Kyle's new parts BEFORE JOHN #and it triggered his competitive instinct #and he knows Kyle did this on purpose which makes him more abnormal

[outeremissary]

2023 Wrapped!

This is my first ever time doing a year end art summary (using this template)- I always wanted to when I was younger, but never felt I was creating enough work or that it was "serious" enough or good looking enough to be worth compiling. It's been interesting to reflect on a year that included so many creative ups and downs (and life ups and downs in general). If you'll permit me I want to do the little reflection ramble too, even if it's an inadvisable 5 (or now 6) in the morning where I live.

Some of you who followed me on Twitter probably know that I only "learned to color"- or rather found a way that worked for me enough to finish things consistently- in 2022, and rather late in 2022 at that. This is pretty much the first year where work I considered "finished" or "polished" included things that weren't greyscale, and it's absolutely the first year where I had attempted to do something in color almost every single month. When I look at this and see the range of hues it has, I really feel an incredible sense of achievement. I would not have imagined 14 months ago that I could stitch something that looked like this together, and 12 months ago I can't say I'd have felt confident either.

Despite having a huge artistic slump in the back half of the year (along with a sharp downturn in my mental health in general) I was astounded to find that for the first six months I had so much work that I loved and was proud of that it was hard to put this together because I constantly felt like I was leaving favorites out- works that I thought were iconic or were huge milestones or I just really loved. That was unbelievable. And that was only sifting through the "nice" stuff- I didn't even consider a mountain of sketches and doodles that I adored! Even in my busiest months and the months I was recovering from a major medical procedure (I got top surgery!!!) I had something to show, and May being a WIP is less because there was nothing in that month than because Aurien and Vio were the only ones who were fitting in the damn frame (side note: I'd be more thoughtful with template than aesthetic if I ever did this again).

Even in the five months I was convinced I had done absolutely nothing, I found again and again that I had more than I thought for every month (except November, where it turned out everything I thought I'd done was early December. you've been spared DUrgetash). I was creating even when I was convinced that I was never going to be able to draw again. And I was creating enough that I got to be picky filling this thing out and choose Tristian for October just for a laugh when other options were out there, and enough that I had options when I was struggling to fit something I wanted into the template frame.

Side note: Miss Leonelle, you were tragically robbed by the damn frames.

In making this I also saw again and again the connections that I made throughout the year. I have had the incredible fortune to make wonderful friends this year and to build on bonds that I already had- even some where I perhaps didn't deserve the chances I was given. @mountainashfae is all over this summary- in April, May, June, August, and November- and I've often felt I spent as much time on Vio as Balthazar this year, but there were at least seven other baronesses, KCs, and other incredible OCs I had the privilege of drawing this year who I desperately wanted to fit onto this and was not able to for one reason or another. I'm so happy to know so many creative, passionate people and to be allowed so close to the things they hold so dear. To everyone who has shared their creations this year- not just with me, but with anyone on the internet or in real life or quietly in DMs or in a Discord or wherever- you're incredible, and I hope you're proud of what you've done. And if you struggle with that, I hope you can be proud of the way you're growing even now.

If you've stuck with me this far, thank you. Sincerely. I really appreciate that there are people who enjoy looking at my silly little drawings and reading my occasional rambles, even if I'm a little erratic on putting things up and usually a bit distant by choice from fan communities. And if you continue to stick around, I hope that you continue to have a good time.

I don't know what to expect from 2024 when I've got a laundry list of projects from 2023 I haven't finished, but I'm hopeful about what it'll contain. There's a lot I want to do- more full illustrations, working on other media, trying more ambitious projects- but for now it's enough to just think about picking up the things I've left off and continuing to tie up those loose ends.

Here's hoping we all can find something we want in 2024, as terrible and unknowable as the new chapter is.

#really obsessed with the single non PF/D&D thing on this being fucking Library of Ruina. huh!! I still haven't played more than two hours #my carmen didn't make the cut but maybe another carmen counts too. #I think in total there are 2.5 things on here that were never posted on tumblr. june made it here as a sketch but I don't think color? #if I have drawn something for you this year I love your character and had fun. :') #if I ever did this again I would maybe just do something with normal squares that didn't look cool. for practicality #emiway time for me to pass the fuck out. everyone outside of the US truly I am posting for you with the times I choose to not sleep #love you all have a good whatever time it is #emi art