Can I get some Pl*gue (a) D*ctor (o) themed names?
(Also sorry if I did the trigger things wrong.)
ohh yeah!! and dw, i usually censor things with / instead of * to make it a bit easier for screen readers but * still works fine!
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Averil / Averill
Alfred
Auden
Braeden
Brynlee
Blythe / Blyth
Beckett / Becket
Cyneric
Cordell
Channing
Dalton
Ealdræd
Egbert
Easton
Edmonda
Fulton
Grant
Haywood
Huxley
Huxleye
Hildred
Hinley
Henley
Hanley
Harlow
Kestrel
Leland
Landon
Landyn
Lyndal
Lynel / Lynell
Linley
Oswald
Ryder
Radcliff
Rohesia
Truman
Thorley
Trilby
Winton
Woodrow
Wilfred
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I propose to you, the core four being poly but Tim is the last person to realise.
Dick, visiting Tim at the tower: Hey buddy! You got something you wanna tell me?
Tim, laying on the couch with his head in Kon's lap as he reads case files: No, why?
Wally:
Tim:
Wally: Why did my Uncle's Grandson just kiss you goodnight?
Tim: Don't shame him, he's adjusting to being in the past.
Diana: When did you and Cassie get together?
Tim, ever oblivious: Like, three years ago. You were there when we formed Young Just Us, weren't you?
Tim, venting to Stephanie: And like, that year was so hard because two of my best friends died! Weirdly enough, their deaths were way harder than like, anyone else's. I mean, I tried to clone Kon for some reason!
Stephanie: God, I can't believe we ever dated, you're so stupid.
Damian: Drake, I have been informed that it is customary to wish queer people a happy pride month.
Tim: I mean, yeah. Why you telling me though?
Damian: In order to repair our relationship, I did some research and according to Father, you are bisexual and polyamorous. Therefor, I wish you a happy pride.
Damian: Drake? Why does your face look more ugly than usual?
Tim, reevaluating his entire life: OH MY GOD-
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I think we should all stop arguing about the pronunciation of 'gaoler' and turn our attention to 'maren' which staff has gone on record saying is pronounced fucking MAY-ren. actual crime against humanity
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What is cue the sun? 👀
I need you to know I am kissing you on the mouth rn (platonically) -- I've been rotating this plot in the microwave since like. mid-august.
It's transcendence au (obvi) but here's the basic hook:
The year is 7098. The last Mizar (Fang Wu -- and shoutout to aba_daba_do for making a kickass OC) has been dead for four years now, and Alcor has been MIA for about the same amount of time. In their absence, the North American continent has broken out into a full-on, cross-continental war, with the main players being the Greater Austinian Monopoly (formerly known as Texas) and the Alaskadian Collective (Alaska, plus some parts of Canada and north-eastern Russia).
In a last-ditch effort to find some long-forgotten piece of magical information that could win the war, Alaskadian scientist Fatima Tursynbekova (an r!Ford) is sent to the abandoned site of what used to be Gravity Falls, accompanied by her troubled teenage daughter Olya (an r!Gideon). They're expecting to find little more than scant remnants of a town that was razed to the ground over thirty years before -- not much better than an archaeological expedition if anything.
However, what they find instead is a thriving small town -- the inhabitants of which are all completely and utterly convinced that it's the year 2016 (feat. the OG Mystery Twins and an extremely sus Stan Pines).
Anyways blah blah blah romance, secrecy, interpersonal drama but COME LOOK AT THE MAP I MADE I spent entirely too much time on it and I've been dying to share:
(Plus better quality image link for if tumblr steals all my pixels)
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Arthur and anglo saxon poetry fucks me up. We call it the Dark Ages because of a dearth of sources, but we have a melancholy poem describing the ruins of Aqua Sulis, or Bath, in the centuries after the Roman Collapse. I might make this into a fic someday, but Arthur is only a boy half-grown and roaming through the anglo-saxon heptarchy, a world he still can't quite wrap his head around, Cumbrian, a Celtic language, still first to cross his lips as he stares up at a ruined city. But more and more of what will one day be English rolling around in his mind, two languages with so few loan words there is nothing in English we can use to construct his mother tongue. Walking through a city, what was once a real and robust city and now lays dead and decaying, he wonders.
Who's bones are these broken beams? His own? Were he and Alasdair and Rhys something once called Britannia, now faded? Are they Rome's, who died thousands of miles away in a place Arthur hasn't seen for centuries? His mother's? She ruled and represented nebulous things, these borders shifting and flexing. Rome made a desert and called it peace, but she ruled it anyway, lady of the waters and the north. Maybe. He's unsure. He touches fallen tile and broken stone and knows what he knew when she drew her last. The end of a world that began failing long before. He'll never be able to sort the losses out; the words he may have once used to describe them are dead and gone by the time there are experts enough to study it. All that once made sense has been forgotten under the weight of a thousand years.
This masonry is wondrous; fates broke it
courtyard pavements were smashed; the work of giants is decaying.
Roofs are fallen, ruinous towers,
the frosty gate with frost on cement is ravaged,
chipped roofs are torn, fallen,
undermined by old age. The grasp of the earth possesses
the mighty builders, perished and fallen,
the hard grasp of earth, until a hundred generations
of people have departed. Often this wall,
lichen-grey and stained with red, experienced one reign after another,
remained standing under storms; the high wide gate has collapsed.
and
Far and wide the slain perished, days of pestilence came,
death took all the brave men away
their places of war became deserted places,
the city decayed. The rebuilders perished,
the armies to earth. And so these buildings grow desolate,
and this red-curved roof parts from its tiles
of the ceiling-vault. The ruin has fallen to the ground
broken into mounds, where at one time many a warrior,
joyous and ornamented with gold-bright splendour,
proud and flushed with wine shone in war-trappings;
looked at treasure, at silver, at precious stones,
at wealth, at prosperity, at jewellery,
at this bright castle of a broad kingdom.
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We were watching the 2023 dog show on YouTube and thisssssss guy
he looks like he forgot the show was today
he looks like they had to peel his hungover face from the floor of his hotel room 20 minutes ago. this was the BEST old English sheepdog of 2023. he won Best of Breed to get here. Experts agreed this is currently the most old English sheepdog
I’m his biggest fan
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