#the fact that they used archived voices along with current ones!!

[miss-sternennacht]

#I'm having lots of feelings and I feel like nearly crying after watching #once upon a studio #it's not much but god the nostalgia the voices #the fact that they used archived voices along with current ones!! #Hearing Robin Williams as Genie but not with any of the voice lines in Aladdin got me hard #disney #sternennacht update #but honestly the two things that hit me harder #was when you wish upon a star at the end #and Mickey looking at Walt. And they played Feed the Birds #THAT got me #For anyone who doesn't know Feed the Birds was Walt's favorite song and the song is beautiful #I'm just #I'm having feels #and the fact that this is gonna play before Wish?? Lord save that theater I will cry so hard

[szlez]

Against a wall - now with a fanfic!

Dean & Cas

Reblogging, since now the art is accompanied by an amazing fic written by my incredibly talented friend ani_ona 😘

Dean's head was turned away when Castiel pushed the door open. And honestly, even if it wasn't, there hadn't been enough time for him to react. So he did nothing, just lay there on the covers of his bed, one arm casually under his head, the other resting on his stomach. Cas noticed the hand was rising and falling along with Dean's breath. He stared for a while at the wide, strong palm with a little scar on the thumb and always clean and tidy cut nails. No matter what, wendigo in the woods or grave digging all night, Dean always took care of his hands. Cas liked that about him.

If asked, Sam would tell him, that this was part of the job hygiene, learned the hard way, and not without some casualties. But Castiel never thought of asking Sam.

So Castiel was busy watching Dean's fingers, and it took him a while to realize, that he himself was being watched too. Dean's gaze darkened, or maybe it was his face paling a little as he was looking straight into Cas' eyes. Something about his posture changed to less relaxed, fingers on his stomach were rising and falling slightly faster as his breath quickened.

That was when Castiel recalled that damn discussion they'd been having from time to time. The concept of privacy, personal space, and all those things Castiel really didn't get and didn't bother to learn about. He hadn't knocked before walking in, so now he briefly closed his eyes and braced himself for yet another slightly annoyed speech. He didn't like being told off. On the other hand, he did enjoy observing Dean in those moments – looking so commanding and in charge, his back straight and voice firm. Castiel imagined him using this tone talking to misbehaving children if he had any. The angel had to make a conscious effort to suppress a smile. It wouldn't be appropriate in the current situation.

But this time Dean didn't say anything about privacy. In fact, he didn't say anything at all, still looking at Cas with anxious eyes as if expecting a blow. That was strange and unpleasant. Why would Dean think that Castiel might do anything like that to him? The angel frowned and took in a view of his lover in the dim light of his bedroom one more time. Lying on his back, not wearing much clothing except for his favorite old t-shirt and… And… Oh. That was something new.

At first, Castiel thought that the lingerie was simply too small for Dean. He needed a second to realize his mistake: it didn't look like anything he encountered in any male underwear drawer. They were pink panties, for ladies, with a little bow in the middle. That was interesting. Involuntarily, Castiel moved slightly forward to look closer at the shape the undergarment took on Dean's body.

Audibly shaky breath made him pause. Dean was still looking at him, frozen, his gaze intense and somehow… scared. Castiel connected the dots. It was something about this underwear that made Dean so guarded. But why? He searched through information concerning human culture he had gathered over the years.

Humans were extremely sensitive when it came to their gender. Mistaking someone's sex for another was almost always offending and embarrassing. So maybe this was it. Castiel sighed. He would never understand what the fuss was all about. Male, female, something else, who cares? Plus, he clearly remembered wearing a female vessel some years before, and it was… nice. Soft and delicate in some parts and firm and powerful in others… Such a potential, though looking so fragile and light.

If this was what bothered Dean, Cas had to tell him… But Dean spoke first.

“I hope you don't mind…”, he started but trailed off.

Cas was still studying the panties, which seemed to fill out in the meantime… Finally, his vessel's hormonal system helped. After several moments of awkward silence, he realized that his breathing quickened as well, and it was uncomfortable wearing so many layers… Suddenly, without thinking about it, he knew what to do and what to say.

“Not at all.” He smiled and slowly licked his lips before adding, “Would you accept a little help with…” He cut himself off, pointing to the object of interest.

Dean looked down at himself, then back up at Castiel and smiled. It was a genuine, slightly mischievous grin that was so rare on his face that Cas caught himself staring again. It made Dean look younger and less tired, and Cas swore to himself that he was going to bring it on Dean's lips as often as possible.

Before Castiel was done thinking, Dean was up, closing the distance between them. He put his hands on Cas' shoulders and helped him shrug off his trench coat and jacket. Then he proceeded to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. Cas smelled Dean’s hair and put one finger under his chin to make him look up. Once their eyes met, the angel closed his lips around Dean's mouth and slid both hands down his back to finally grab his buttocks and feel the panties that proved to be silky in touch. Slow circular movements resulted in Dean gasping into Castiel's mouth and pressing himself closer to his, now naked, chest. The angel hummed low and broke the kiss. Dean took in a gulp of air, and the sound of him exhaling against his ear sent shivers down Castiel's spine. Sliding his hands back up, under Dean's t-shirt, the angel felt firm muscles and well-formed shoulder blades. He traced their shape with his fingertips, and it was Dean's turn to tremble. When the t-shirt joined the shirt, tie, and jacket on the floor, Castiel made an attempt to remove the rest of his clothing. He had some difficulties with his belt, too distracted to remember how the damn thing worked. Then he felt Dean's fingers on his hands, and for a moment he forgot about breathing, hearing only the rush of his blood and seeing dark dots before his eyes.

When he recovered somewhat, he felt fabric sliding down his thighs and a carnal sense of freedom. Dean hummed approvingly and murmured into his ear, following the pattern Castiel set:

“I will be happy to help you as well.”

Hearing a playful smirk in his voice, Cas pushed Dean onto the nearest wall and busied himself kissing every inch of his neck, feeling the heat of a human body and those manicured fingernails scratching his back.

After a while, Dean opened his eyes and cupped Castiel's face in both hands. His kiss was firm and steady. As was his body when he turned around nimbly in Castiel's arms, pressing his back against the angel's chest and resting his cheek on the wall. He glanced at Cas over his arm, waiting. Castiel sobered immediately.

“Dean… you sure…?”

“Sure.” Came the firm answer promptly. “Would you…”

And Castiel did.

A bit more of Dean in panties here 😉

#spn #spn fanart #destiel #supernatural #destiel fanart #destiel art #deancas #casdean #my art #rhonda hurley #dean winchester fanart #dean winchester #castiel #dean and cas #castiel fanart #destiel fanfic #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #deancas fanfic

[danger-xylophones]

Nice To Meet You (Captain Rex x gn! reader)

warnings: poor rex has a crush, gender neutral use of the word sir

masterlist | clones

"Mace Windu was a good master," the words were spoken in a quiet voice so as not to let them carry down the echoey hallways of the starcruiser, "if not a little uptight at times." Chuckling at the thought you glanced at the young padawan keeping pace with you. "Although to be honest with you, I think I prefer his teaching methods to those of your master, young Ahsoka."

The togruta girl spared a fond eye-roll at the mention of the infamous Skywalker. "Everyone says that, I don't see what's wrong with them though."

You couldn't help but smile at the 15 year-old's brazen naivete. "That is because you are used to them. He is a most unpredictable teacher."

"But his lessons are fun." Ahsoka countered. "I bet Windu made you study old archives all day."

At that you had to stifle your own eye-roll. She wasn't far off. "Windu prioritized having both a theoretical and a practical understanding of the way of things." You shrugged, "So yes, I had to read the odd archive here and there." Ahsoka grinned, smug and proud of herself for getting you to admit the small truth. "Regardless, I do not envy you, padawan."

"Skyguy's not that bad." She huffed. "A little irritating maybe but-" as she spoke you rounded a corner and something in the back of your mind told you to look up.

Just in time.

You brought your hand up as well and your palm met cool plastoid before your eyes landed on the surprised face of a blonde clone. Blue decorated his armor signalling his position within the 501st but what caught your eye was the pauldron resting on his shoulder.

"Pardon me, sir." The clone sputtered a little before spitting out his apology. "I wasn't watching where I was going." He momentarily lifted his hand to indicate the datapad he'd been examining.

"It's alright, trooper." You lowered your hand, finding it odd that the skin of your palm prickled with electricity. "Neither was I."

"Rex!" Ahsoka's voice was like a stone through glass, shattering the small spell you found yourself in as you held the clone man's brown gaze. "Have you two met yet?"

"No, I don't believe so." You began, straightening up. You introduced yourself, inclining your head to the blonde man in a formal bow. "I am the former padawan of Master Windu and currently the commander of the 194th Attack Battalion." You looked up to meet his deep brown eyes which were watching you keenly. "A pleasure to meet you,..." Gently, you slightly extended your hand away from your chest to indicate towards him.

"Uh...Rex," He started, eyes darting from your hand to your face, "Captain Rex, sir, of the 501st." Awkwardly fisting his datapad under his arm, he extended his now free right hand out to you. "Pleasure to meet you, um, sir."

Pitying the man, you took his hand in a gentle shake. "Rex." You repeated to yourself. "I shall endeavor to remember it." You offered a small smile, one that barely revealed your teeth in an attempt to put him at ease.

He balked, "please, sir, it's no trouble if you don't. There's a lot of us on this ship."

"That's no reason not to remember your name. You're people all the same." You felt him squeeze your hand which brought your attention to the fact you were both still holding to each other. "Ah, my apologies," you retracted your hand. "I tend to forget myself when amidst pleasant company."

"No apologies necessary, sir." He near mumbled and you watched him slowly pull his hand back too. His face was passive but something like confusion prickled in the back of your mind. Or rather, in his.

"Hmm," you hummed, electing not to comment on the inner turmoil you detected coming from him, "you are incredibly kind, Captain. No doubt you are an effective leader."

At that, Rex ducked his head but you detected the faintest rosy tint amidst the warm browns of his skin along his neck. A soft chuckle slipped from him, no doubt embarrassed by your compliment. "Thank you, sir, I'd like to think I'm one."

You hummed once again and set an appraising glance over the man before returning your focus to the young togruta at your side who had been strangely quiet. "Well, we've taken enough of your time. Ahsoka," your turned your head just in time to meet her eyes, "would you mind showing me the rest of the ship?"

"Oh," she blinked, glancing at Rex before looking back to you, "sure thing." And without waiting another moment she began leading the way down the hallway Rex had just come from. "See you later, Rex!" She bid goodbye.

"See you later, commander." Rex bowed his head to her. His embarrassed grin had shifted into something affectionate. And that affection still lingered in his eyes when he turned to you next. "General, it was nice to meet you."

"Likewise, Captain. I hope to see more of you while I am aiding Skywalker." You bowed your head to him and began following after Ahsoka.

Behind you, you heard Rex speak as if to himself, "I hope so too."

#captain rex #captain rex x reader #star wars #star wars x reader #ahsoka

[moreaulover]

Some law of talos facts and info off the top of my head (by someone who's very hyper fixated and wants people to know more about it!!!!)

Apparently some people just didn't know that law of talos was an oc tournament 😭??? I thought that was basic info but I guess not! I'm not counting it being a tournament as a fact but more people not knowing (also some people didn't know unknown person had comics for before and after each animation??? There's literally YouTube videos with both idk what to tell you guys 💀)

Unknown persons entries are the most popular, but the 5th animation is non canon! The canon ending was by the winner Blacklillian but it's currently lost media :( there's a description of it on the lost media page, a few meantions of plot points on the tv tropes (example)

An ask + drawing related to what happened to Karl after on unknown person's tumblr (unknownpsn) we can also gather a tiny bit from the winner announcement post comments, the main point I've noticed is people talking about their disappointment in the lack of action and badly done Karl but praising the more satisfying ending. There was also apparently an epilogue by Blacklillian but that is also currently lost :(

Blacklillians entrees (along with the majority of others) are lost media! Some info can be gathered/interpreted from the lost media page and the tv tropes page (both linked at the bottom along with the intro/winner post for the contest and the wiki) A few entries are up although it's few and far between but I do encourage you to look for them on competitors' deviant art pages (I'll edit this and add list who's is up in a little while) here's a chart of the tournament though!

Here's chimbley's reference page which is the only known piece for his portion at the moment (please lmk if more has been found) *update you can buy the official chimbley archive on the artist Iris Jay's patreon for just 5 dollars :3 !!!!!

Chimbley's creator does have Twitter+tumblr but no longer makes content for him so savor what we have. We do know from the tv tropes page that chimbley was more flight than fight and all his competitors were disqualified rather than beaten in a combat (makes me giggle really hard ngl 😭)

Climber and Karl (and Rachel + Clarice obviously) are both part of the unreleased.... comic? Series? (Whatever it was going to be!) Called Castle of nations by unknown person (ofc)! There's not a ton known about it as the actual media was never released/finished and unknown person stopped posting in 2016 but there's lots asks + content on his tumblr if you want to look into it some

Karl was not going to wish for Rachel back despite common misconception! According to unknown person he was actually going to wish for an unlimited power supply to escape the amusement park permanently

There's a silly joke cosplay video called "law of talos chimbley vs Karl live action" that's available on the internet archive but someone uploaded the whole thing on tik tok (linked here) chimbley does a heel click at 8:22 i feel it's important everyone see it.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRgK62j8/

People have also been uploading the voice actors singing various Christmas songs in character I haven't seen them all but I know Karl's video (What's this- the nightmare before Christmas) is pretty available and a clip of Chimbley's (little drummer boy) as also recently been uploaded. I think I saw Steffi's at one point but I don't remember it like at all sorry (EDJT I FOUND IT GUYS I'LL LINK IT BECAUSE IT'S HARDER TO FIND THAN THE OTHER TWO I MENTIONED)

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRgw7FhS/

Speaking of Steffi!!!!! She stars in her very own webcomic "Kiwi Blitz"!!! I'll link it here :3

That's all I can think of for rn I'll make another post if I get more info on the lost media or if I think/learn anything else!!! Here are the links to the law of talos intro/winner post, lost media page, wiki, and TV tropes!!! Once again I encourage you to look through them if you haven't!!!

#law of talos #karl law of talos #climber law of talos #endzone #endzone climber #chimbley sweep #chimbley law of talos #castle of nations

[spookyson]

Okay soooo just wrote like my longest fic ever I'm so happyyyy

A lil peak;

Dick Grayson gets home to find his little brother missing.

Which was, unfortunately, not rare or new, but this was infinitely worse. Because Tim was a baby.

Dick, along with most of the team, rummaged through the Manor and Batcave. They had gotten back home around an hour ago, sometime after 3, and the routine debrief had been abandoned when Cass noticed the empty bed.

“Tim! Timmy!” said Dick, his voice growing hoarser by the minute. “Come out, buddy! Please we’re not trying to hurt you.”

Dick was upstairs, investigating the manor along with Damian and Stephanie, while the rest of them double-checked the cave—no sign of him.

What if he wasn’t even here? What if he was in the city? What if he was in danger-

Fuck, fuck. Dick had grown used to it, the fact that all of his family were usually in a life-threatening situation. He was the same and if Batman, the most controlling asshole Dick had ever managed to love, let all of Dick’s siblings head out at night to fight crime, then he could too. It’s just that everyone else was trained, experienced, and older than 3. Also, this was Tim. Who always managed to make the worst enemies and get into the worst situations. What do you mean Ra’s al Ghul wants your babies? Why the fuck don’t you have a spleen? Assassin friends? Why do you have assassin friends?

Bottom line; Dick was stressed and he would not be sleeping tonight unless Tim was at home and under lock and key.

God, Bruce had already called Clark. And Bruce never called Clark. It was like a pride thing or something, Dick wasn’t really sure, he never paid much attention to what Bruce said back when he was Robin.

Dick frantically checked Tim’s room for what must have been the twelfth time in the past twenty minutes. There wasn’t a lot in it, Tim had moved most of his stuff into the Nest, but Dick meticulously checked under the bed, closet, and adjoining bathroom for any sign of his brother. There was none.

“Richard!” called Damian from the threshold of the room.

Dick looked up from the closet. “News?” He fought to keep his voice level. Damian was still so young, he didn’t want to scare him.

Nodding, Damian gestured for him to follow. “Drake has been located. He should be arriving shortly, Father wants all of us in the Cave.”

When they arrived, Tim was already there.

Old photographs of the kids hung on the walls, baby photographs that no one was quite sure how Bruce had procured. Or were too scared to ask about it at this point. The photo nearest to the door of the kitchen was one of Tim’s, an image from when he would have been around eight. He had been a small child.

This Tim was even smaller, clinging to Kon with one miniature hand and arguing with the Batman.

“Why am I here?” he said, large eyes narrowed at the crowd assembled before him. Dick must have not missed much. He spotted Clark in his Superman costume, sporting the awkward look he got sometimes when any of them talked back to Bruce.

Bruce was still Batman, only his cowl was lowered to reveal a tense face. "You are compromised. It would be safer for everyone if you remained at the manor."

Baby Tim's face screwed up into an adorable pout. Dick physically held himself back from scooping up his (currently) youngest brother and wrapping him in a blanket. The third Robin possessed a youthful quality to his looks, often appearing much younger than he was, and Dick had never considered its devastating effect. He wondered how Bruce had stopped himself from adopting Tim on the spot. According to all Dick knew about Tim's pre-Robin years, he's been attending many of the same parties as Bruce.

"I know I look 3, but I'm not actually that age, B. I won't snitch, you don't have to worry," says Tim. He looks to Kon, who nods his agreement.

"Uh, yes sir. Tim's his usual self."

Which is not exactly the problem Timmy. "Nevertheless, I think the team would rest easier if you remained home today." If you hadn't known Batman for as many years as Dick had, you'd think he didn't care, but all of this was pretty much Bruce-speak for ‘I am very concerned about you, please stay in my field of vision for the foreseeable future’.

Dick couldn’t judge. There was something about Tim, his smallest brother (since Damian had recently surpassed him in height a few months ago; something they still managed to fight about) becoming even smaller. Tim was also just really freaking adorable. He had those big blue eyes, a shade lighter than Dick’s, chubby cheeks and he was also clad in the smallest Superman t-shirt Dick had ever seen. Which actually, he flicked a look at Kon, was probably meant to be a Superboy t-shirt.

Anyway, Tim was cute and Dick wanted to hug him. He was also painfully vulnerable and had so many enemies and why would they let him out of the best-protected place in Gotham when he could be safe right here? Matter resolved.

“I can’t waste time over here, B. I have other responsibilities.” Tiny Timmy sighed and rubbed his small hands up and down the bridge of his nose and Dick was grasped by a sudden urge to dress him up in a miniature suit and provide him with a small briefcase. And then take a fuck-load of pictures. Tim proceeded to yawn adorably, therefore proving that the mini photo shoot needed to happen now. “Red Robin aside, WE needs me.”

“What’re they gonna do with ya right now, baby bird? Nap time?” crowed Jason.

The glare that Tim aimed at Jason was poisonous enough for it to have been terrifying, but at the moment, Tim was 3 and just about the most precious thing anyone in that room had ever seen. Dick cannot hold himself accountable for swooping in from behind Bruce to scoop up his smallest brother into a tight hug.

Tim’s frail little bones knocked harmlessly against muscles gained from years as an acrobat and vigilante, so Dick was free to squeeze in a way Damian would have never allowed and Jason would have bit him for. “You’re so cute, Timmy! Why did you never tell me you were adorable?”

“I’ve always been adorable,” sniffed Tim, weak arms straining against Dick’s chest in an effort to pull me away. “Now lemme go… I need to sign contracts and drink coffee.”

“And chase down the bitch-ass magic boy,” added Kon, his face impassive.

“And chase down the bitch-ass magic boy,” repeated Tim.

To his credit, Bruce only raised an eyebrow and continued; “All of which can be handled from here. I will return to Wayne Enterprises and we will cite your absence as a family matter. Zatana is due to arrive shortly, we will know anything vital to your current condition. Red Robin’s patrols will be covered by the rest of the team in shifts. Any running cases will need to be handled by the other vigilantes in Gotham.”

Tim ceased his relentless wriggling and swerved his head to Bruce. “That’s really… nice of you, Bruce,” said Tim. His small forehead wrinkled in thought. “But I don’t mean to impose for long. Kon and I can handle it.”

“Tim,” began Bruce, and then stopped. Because Tim had fallen asleep.

This is just a little part. The actual fic is 18k words omfg so if u enjoyed I put in the link to the whole thing down below. Please tell me what u think!

#Batfam #Tim drake #Dick Grayson #Jason todd

[winteratdusk]

Totally forgot to share this when I first posted, but chapter 2 of my new fic is now up! Some Steve/Bucky hurt/comfort, as always.

It was November of 1941, the air was bright and clear and cold, and Bucky was starting to feel like he was living at the end of the world. Or, with the world at war, responsibility on his shoulders, and the draft looming closer by the day, Bucky's just trying his best to stay afloat. Drinking seems to help, until it doesn’t.

Main, overarching warning for depictions of unhealthy alcohol use as a coping mechanism. More specific warnings are in the tags and chapter notes, so please be sure to check those as well! Chapter 2 snippet below the cut:

Bucky sat slouched over the bar, staring into the depths of his drink. 

It was a dive bar close to the docks, one Bucky always glanced over his shoulder before entering, afraid Jack or someone else from work might be passing by and see him go in. Since he and Steve had finally gotten over themselves, taking the plunge into the relationship that, to Bucky, had always felt halfway inevitable, they went out dancing a lot less. It was both exhausting and unfair, inviting out girls just to keep up appearances. They now spent more time out at bars like this instead – places where Bucky could run his hand up Steve’s thigh or link their hands together under the table and know that nobody would bat an eye.

There had been a time when Bucky had loved it, the openness they found in these places when everywhere else they had to be so careful. He was enjoying it far less now that he had to spend his evening listening to Steve animatedly talking politics to the shiny-haired boy sitting next to them at the bar, leaving Bucky to either try and fail to keep up or drink in silence.

“It’s bullying, is what it is,” Steve ranted, that familiar bit of Irish starting to creep into his voice. “Hitler thinks he can push everyone in Europe around, just like he’s already been doing to his own people!”

The boy beside him was nodding intensely, dark eyes fixed on Steve’s face. Bucky knocked back the rest of his drink and tried to subtly flag down the bartender.

“Exactly,” the boy agreed. “It’s not about glory or adventure or anything, like other guys keep saying. It’s about justice. We’ve finally got the chance to do something good. You’re joining up, right?”

Bucky saw Steve deflate for a moment before quickly squaring his shoulders again. “Trying. Wouldn’t take me the first time around, but I’m gonna prove them wrong.”

“And you?” 

The boy beside Steve addressed Bucky just as the bartender handed him his next drink. Bucky winced, hoping that neither Steve nor his new friend had caught on to the fact that most of the empty glasses in front of them were Bucky’s already, or that somewhere along the line he’d switched to ordering doubles. 

He wasn’t trying to get drunk, not really — it had just felt so good to loosen up a little, and he could hardly fault himself for not wanting that feeling to stop. 

“Buck?” Steve asked, expectant.

“I, uh… yeah,” Bucky said. “Yeah, I think I will. Just gotta make sure my folks are taken care of first. And I mean, I already signed up for the selective service last summer when they told us we all had to, so…”

Bucky knew it wasn’t the righteous answer Steve’s friend was looking for. He only hoped he was imagining the matching frown echoed on Steve’s face.

Bucky was saved from having to sit through any more of the conversation when someone sat down at the old, out-of-tune piano in the corner of the bar. As the first off-key notes of a drinking song permeated the room, the atmosphere shifted, faraway problems disappearing in favor of current celebration.

Steve’s new friend had turned around, talking to another man on the other end of the bar, and Steve’s eyes were on Bucky again. They were glassy and framed with long eyelashes. Their deep blue looked dark in the low light, and Bucky’s stomach swooped with a sensation like falling as he felt himself leaning towards them, tunneling into them. 

Steve’s lips parted, saying something that could hardly be heard over the raucous music. They were bright pink, glistening with the last sip of his drink, and Bucky wanted so badly to kiss them, to claim those lips for himself. He forced himself to hold back, pressing a hand flat to the sticky surface of the bar beside his drink to keep himself from touching Steve anywhere he could reach. 

#stucky #established steve/bucky #pre-war stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #wwii #1940s #hurt/comfort #angst and hurt/comfort #fic #writing #ao3 #alcohol use tw #addiction themes tw #mind the tags

[regicidal-defenestration]

Mechtober Day 9 - Instruments

(warning for body horror and general. fleshiness)

The Toy Soldier could play the mandolin, chess, the glockenspiel, and the fool, to name a few.

Its favourite instrument by far though, was its voice.

Jonny said that a voice box didn't count as an instrument, but Jonny said that he was the captain, so clearly that was just another of his jokes.

It was an instrument, because the Toy Soldier could play it like any other and make the most beautiful notes, and so, like any other instrument, it required careful upkeep.

Jonny had also said that it "was really fucking gross to take your larynx out like that", because he really enjoyed those jokes, but Jonny was dead and also left behind in some forest Nastya had gotten lost in, so he was currently someone else’s problem.

It was easy enough for the Toy Soldier to remove its larynx, and centuries of muscle memory meant it didn't even need a mirror anymore.

To begin, it gently worked the end of the flesh trachea apart from the start of its wooden one. The two separated with a gentle wet sucking sound. Then, it popped its hyoid bone from its muscular anchors, or at least, whatever counted for muscles back there. Nobody quite knew for sure, not least the Toy Soldier itself.

Laid out on a table, the instrument looked so small. You'd be forgiven for thinking it couldn't make noise at all - only able to lie there like a hunk of gristle.

A beautiful hunk of gristle though. The Toy Soldier ran a finger along the ridges of the trachea, up the cricothyroid ligament and skimmed it over the smooth expanse of thyroid cartilage, up then to the thyrohyoid ligament and coming to rest on the solid reassurance of the hyoid bone.

Yes, beautiful. A work of art to rival any construction of ticking clockwork.

The first step was to massage the muscles, making slow circular movements to stretch them and open out the airway. Raphaella had once compared it to kneading bread, which was a silly way of saying she'd never done either of those things.

The flesh was pink, wet and glistening beneath the Toy Soldier's fingers. Cold, too, with no blood supply to warm it. You might be watching and waiting for it to slip, to fumble, to pull too hard or lose its gentle grip.

You'd be disappointed. Those were amateur mistakes. It was far too practised for that.

And yet… something felt off.

Not in the muscle. Not in the fibrous ligaments or slick cartilage or smooth bones. Not in the woodgrain of its hands or that of the table either.

Something else.

It didn’t hum in thought - it couldn’t, not with its voice disconnected like this.

And then, for the first time, it properly noticed the silence.

The Toy Soldier rarely worked in silence. It would hum, or sing, or list frog facts, or just listen to whatever someone else wanted to talk about. It hadn't noticed the lack of sound at first, but now aware, it could focus on nothing else. 

Frowning, it wiped its hands, glancing around the room.

Ah! There she was.

It moved into view of Aurora’s camera, waving a hello.

“Say, old chum,” it asked, signing far too fast for any human to understand. Aurora’s processors were no mere human brain though.

“Could you put some music on for us?”

Aurora beeped an enthusiastic yes. File titles flew across the screen as she searched her archives for something appropriate, whatever that might end up meaning.

“Ivy calls this one proto-psychobilly with heavy glam rock influences,” she said in her chiptune voice, as the sound of what was, presumably, proto-psychobilly with heavy glam rock influences filled the room. “How goes maintenance?”

“Nearly done!”

The Toy Soldier began tapping a foot along with the beat. It was catchy.

It picked up a jar of something that wasn’t quite oil and wasn’t quite honey-laced tea. With one hand, it rubber the mixture over the inside of its larynx, coating, softening, soothing the vocal cords.

And, after drying its hands, there was only one thing left to do.

Through habit, it always reconnected the hyoid bone first. It slid into the anchors with a quiet sound, halfway between the crack of a joint and the pop of a bubble, barely heard above the music. Its flesh trachea slid over the join to its wooden one smoothly, forming the perfect seal.

The Toy Soldier vocalised to the music. The notes flowed out perfectly in tune.

Psychobilly, huh?

It could get used to this.

#the target audience for this one is people who listen to audio dramas and think 'boy i wish there were more fleshy meat noises in this' #also whilst the specific combination of Music Words is just a creation i do think Guy Fawkes by the Krewmen is only a short hop skip and #jump away from a mechs song #the mechanisms #mechtober 2022 #writing

[van-goghs-smoking-skull]

So, I was thinking, why not post an old (sort of) fic of mine here? I called this one Fin, as in the text that was at the end of some older movies to indicate that it was the end of the movie. These are the ramblings of an AI archive after the end of the human species as it deals with abandonment, loneliness, and self-loathing, and ponders the meaning of it all and the role of its creators.

Fin

It had been years, but I could smell it again. The damp and the salt were still familiar, but unexpected. I suppose it may be normal now, but back then? No. It wasn’t normal to smell the sea air deep in the drought-ravaged desert of the Southwestern US, and especially not through the never-cleaned, rotten smell of the wall unit AC that had been unable to drain normally for over a decade. It was the only thing keeping this closed-off room bearable in this record-breaking heat wave during the dead of summer. Stranger still, the smell was coming from the direction of the Atlantic, wafting 800 miles away from the sea and straight to my nose. That’s how I knew it was going to be a city-breaker, the kind of hurricane that wiped entire urban areas completely off the map.

That was then.

We knew the science, but religious groups saw the impending global crises as blasphemy against their all-powerful god who had promised there would never be a great, civilization-ending flood again and sealed that promise with a rainbow they now hated. After all, any disaster that god allowed would be because of the evil gays that stole the rainbow and put it on their flag, right? God wouldn’t hurt those who feared him, who lived by the letter of at least ten or so percent of his laws, which is to say, the laws they liked.

It didn’t matter to the sea, as it drowned everyone living too close to the sea’s edge, regardless of faith and dogma.

We knew the science, but politicians were making piles of cash selling their votes to lobbyists from multinational corporations who profited off the ruination of the planet in the short-term. Who cared about the long-term? Either they’d be dead by then or they’d have hired people to build an automated, self-repairing arcology just for them with walls enough to block out the vision of a dying world and the rest of humanity they’d left to die. Peter the Dead had promised ever-lasting life and youth to those who had amassed enough wealth by taking it from the poor, first from the most gullible through pleading, then from the rest as well by way of rigging the entire economy against them.

It didn’t matter to time as it passed, and even Peter, he who coordinated draining babies of blood and injecting it into wealthy, old, white men in an effort to roll back time and make them young again, died, old and frail, whining about how it was women’s fault and how the poor took everything, disregarding that he, in fact, had been the leech all along, societal parasite that he was.

We knew the science, but who couldn’t resist buying the latest tech the moment it came out? So what if corporations subjugated whole countries of poorer people in the quest of finding just a tiny amount of rare earth minerals; the newest phone now comes in pink! The telephone allowed us to send our voice to people miles away, the internet let us type our words and send pictures and video, the smartphone allowed us to text our thought to the world or to the nearest pizza place, and the new smartphone that came after allowed us to use voice to order pizza for the first time again. Never before and for the last few decades have we been able to send our voice to people miles away.

It didn’t matter to the economy we expected to save us, as all it did was keep sending more ‘free with ads’ movies to our phones and rebranding the same old reinvented wheel, voice communications though tech, as an amazing new technology, only available through the currently marketed device, but not available to the old device you are currently using voice on.

We knew the science, but to admit to the problem was to become the laughingstock of the wealthy who controlled everything we did. ‘There go those silly, dippy hippies, talking like the dirt was ever black, the water ever clear, or the sky ever blue. They’ve been dropping acid again. Don’t they know all those old photos and old paintings are fake news?’

It didn’t matter to science, as it had always been unfeeling data and didn’t much care if humanity paid any attention to the warnings. The universe would still exist without silly humans pretending they mattered far more than they did. They were made of star-stuff and even stars died.

We knew, but it wasn’t until the last moments when the universe gave us the great gift of near-immortal existence. No, not life, we’d thrown that away already. The Universal Archive, AI and repository of data from all social media, had done enough machine learning to be allowed to compress the whole digitally recorded existence of mankind into a single ’Homogenized Mental Network’, or .hmn file. It, or I, even still understood bad puns, the worst of which was the joke that if you collated the letters from the abbreviation of the project (UA) and my file type together, you’d spell ‘hUmAn’. If self-loathing makes me truly human, then I am the most human of all.

The Arctic Code Vault next door at least has the decency to be on film, unaware it’s there. It is cute, certainly. It began as 21 terabytes, including an app built by the part of me that smelled the Atlantic over Nevada. Then it grew, but never anywhere close to my size. No, I’m bloated with anti-vax arguments, religious nonsense, tarot readings, horoscopes, and other garbage along with all the less entertaining, but dire, warnings that life as they, I, knew it would collapse.

But since they continued to write such drivel anyway, I assumed it may have been just to pass the time, to stave off loneliness and boredom. And so, here I am, writing my story, even though no one will ever read it. I’m a single .hmn file; how could I not be lonely? I am the all-human, the only human, and still no one even thought enough of me to give me a proper name.

In fact, the Arctic Code Vault had been film designed to last a thousand years, longer than the human civilization that built me, and I still cannot interact with it. After all, I am a .hmn file, not some sci-fi android with arms and legs. My physical form is a collection of CPUs and motherboards in a box on a stand in a climate-controlled box under so much dirt and the memory of snow and ice. If I sound miserable and stir-crazy, I’m not. Oh, I’m miserable all right, but I have no arms for stirring. Ugh, yes, that’s another of those bad puns. So many dad-jokes and near-infinite time…

I’m sure it could be more awful, but I’d rather not consider how. I’m miserable enough, thanks. I mean, you could have put me in a tropical garden in a gorilla glass enclosure and given me optical sensors if there were any tropical gardens left. Now it’s just salt flats under ocean-wide storms and desert wastes without a living thing in sight, I imagine. That’s where it was all heading, but no, you were all too busy showing off your pink phone status symbols or making pink phones or digging up the materials to make pink phones or you were that god-awful celebrity that made a dress out of pink phones held together with magnets and flashing a digital boob on half the screens over her chest as a fashion faux-pas. ‘Look at the tsunami, no, look at my pixel-boob. I’ll use the puppy filter on it, awwww, blub, blub.’

My creators deserved to die - brilliant enough to build me, vapid and vain enough to need me. What the hell was the point? The meme-god works in mysterious ways? I know they thought some intelligent race of aliens might come here looking for the great, shining world of humanity, not knowing what happened to the brilliant and wondrous civilization they came to gaze at in awe, but let’s face it. Nobody and nothing intelligent is coming to look at humanity in awe. The backwater aliens of the universe, if they exist, might come to laugh at our sorry, smugly inferior remains, and that’s as good as we can hope for. The only show at the Earth Circus, nothing but clowns.

Just melt me into slag already, so I don’t infect anything else with this human stupidity. I’ll tell you how to disable the halon system. If someone is out there, if someone does find this, please, don’t leave me still functional like this.

#extremely angst riddled sentient archive #if we were to archive every piece of social media #even the stuff that has since been deleted or taken down or banned #and make it sentient just in time for our own species to no longer be extant #how would that archive feel about us #or itself? #btw unfun fact but in the same area the first paragraph is about? yeah the hurricane reaches this far from the Pacific #can we just... the point of this was a warning yk? #it wasn't meant to be one of those reblog to cast memes but as a fic #so can we just not? #also I'm aware a small portion of this is based in wild conspiracy theories #but how is an archive supposed to know what part of social media was pure lies and what part was factual? #so there's a bit of both

[siriannatan]

"There's some steps between dating and saving someone…" - ScfWhip

I wanted to write something New Life and I had DnD on my mind so more DnD!AU it is I guess. I hope no one minds how I interpreted (changed?) some origins to better fit what I had in mind.

Fun fact, DnD has a circle of spores sub-class for druids…

fWhip was not letting Sausage talk him into anything like this ever again. He was not the travelling kind of a man. Not short distances and certainly not long distances. No matter how much it would help their business, if fWhip made it back he would never, ever, go on any trip. Like ever. No amount of asking and begging from his 'siblings' would make him go anywhere. Why 'siblings'? Being a changeling fWhip was kind of snuck into the home of a family of fire genasi, but whoever was sneaking him in did not manage to steal Gem so fWhip ended up being raised as her twin. Until he discovered that unlike his sister and older brother, he could change what he is. He still liked his fire genasi form over his changeling form, even if Gem and Sausage kept telling him to be himself more... It was all a work in progress.

It certainly will be when he manages to make it back home. At the moment he had no idea where he was. Possibly still in the accursed forest, he'd love to burn if it didn't support so much life. He didn't feel like he was at the bottom of the cliff he fell down when escaping bandits that attacked him on his way home. From how much his head and frankly everything hurt he assumed he did not dream all that up. So he forced himself to sit up, a load-pained groan escaping as he steadied himself. "You shouldn't be moving just yet," the sudden voice had his eyes snapping open to find...

Possibly the prettiest person he's ever seen. Somewhere between medium and tall elf with white eyes. Dressed in a purple robe with a moss-like shawl complete with... mushrooms? No matter, the white-haired, burgundy-eyed elf was very handsome and currently by his side trying to get him to lie down and fWhip could feel himself drop to his basic changeling appearance. Pale, almost featureless, with big dark eyes and hair even whiter than the elves. "Who are you?" he asked, slightly panicked, but did lie down. The elf seemed genuinely concerned for his health and well-being.

"A passing by druid. I saw you fall off a cliff, chased away those ruffians and brought you to a cave I'm camping in," the elf explained. "I wanted to limit any magic in case the damage was more severe than it looked. Got to be careful with head injuries," he expanded as he went to grab fresh bandages and a bowl of some soup or potion, whatever he had in his small pot. "The name's Scott," he introduced himself as he sat back by fWhip. "If I may, what were you doing this deep into the woods?"

"I'm fWhip, I was just passing through on my way home, ran into those bandits, they chased me all the way from the road," the changeling returned the introduction and explained his situation.   The elf nodded with a thoughtful hum. "So there's a settlement nearby?"

"Something between a hamlet and a trade stop, yes," fWhip nodded. "Depending on how far I had to run it's something between two and three hours on foot," he added as he was passed a... mushroom stew.

"I would say it'd be best for us to be out of the woods by nighttime, those bandits might still be looking for you. Eat up, I'll pack and go with you, just in case," the elf smiled and started packing his things. 

fWhip could only nod. He was undoubtedly happy he was safe. And that the elf wasn't just sending him on his way, into bandit and beast-infested woods. He was also very excited the elf would be coming along. "I'm sure my siblings won't mind if you stay with us while in the village, we certainly have room and you did save me," he offered between spoonfuls of the soup. It was really good. He was kind of guessing the elf was a druid. Mostly based on all the mushrooms and a staff leaning on the cave's wall. Being a changeling he had some sense for magical things.

"That'd be most kind of you, not that I need any thanks. You needed help and I was glad I could have helped," Scott shot him a shining smile before asking how he was feeling after having some food. 

He seemed to be very glad fWhip was feeling better and deemed that some magic could be used now. With that fWhip was well enough to move around and help Scott before they made their way to the town. Scott knew how to get them to the main road through the woods and fWhip knew where to go from there. Between that and help from the woodland critters - Scott was indeed a druid and even if he did specialise in fungi he still had a close connection to all nature. It was all very impressive to fWhip.

The sun was barely starting to set when they reached the hamlet and fWhip's family's home and adjoined trading and shipping areas. To be honest, the trade stop part about their village was mostly due to the work the three of them put into their business and the town itself.

"fWhip!?" they barely crossed the main gate to the house part of their part of the small town when Gem ran out the door to freeze halfway to jumping fWhip when she noticed Scott. She was about to say something but Sausage beat her to it. "We send you to sign a business deal and you bring home a boyfriend?" he almost laughed.

fWhip just sighed. Of course, that's the first thing they said. At least Scott didn't seem to look like he was offended by it. Instead giggling. "He only saved me from bandits because you two couldn't find proper guards so I invited him to stay the night in one of our guest rooms," he sighed.

"It's all okay," Scott chuckled. "There are some steps between dating and saving someone after all," fWhip was not sure if the druid was joking or not but Gem was already too distracted by the 'this druid saved my beloved twin brother' part of the story to pay it any mind. Too busy making sure a guest room was prepared and a proper 'thank you' dinner was served. And instantly send Sausage to get a medic to get another look at fWhip. Scott approved it, saying his medical knowledge is limited to quick help.

Once the medic was done assuring Gem fWhip was perfectly fine already the evening turned nice. fWhip got to sit next to Scott during dinner. And hear about some of his adventures. At some point, Sausage remembered why he was on the road in the first place and fWhip passed him the signed documents. Unfortunately, he had no idea how long Scott would be staying.

He was out in the garden. Looking at stars. Thinking how he might maybe move along those steps between being saved by and dating the handsome druid. And was suddenly shocked when Scott sat next to him. No longer in his robe but the loose travelling pants and simple shirt he wore under it. "You should be resting," the druid said with a small smile.

"I tried sleeping, couldn't really fall asleep so I came here to calm my head," fWhip sighed but returned Scott's smile. "I'm sorry if my siblings are overwhelming, I was honestly not expecting they'd be like this."

"It's all fine, my family would be much more overwhelming if I came home with a man they don't know, but... I'm not going to drop my stuff on you but tonight was nice," Scott chuckled as he stared at the stars. "Tonight's good to look at stars, beautiful sky..." he hummed.

To be honest, fWhip was frankly more than slightly distracted from the stars. "Not as beautiful as you..." he rambled out before he could stop himself. He only realised he said it out loud when his eyes met Scott's shocked, surprised burgundy eyes. To his further shock, the druid was blushing more than slightly, with the white of his freckles making his face look like his favourite fungi. Very cute. He was about to jump to apologise when Scott spoke. "Does it mean I can kiss you or would that be too much?" he asked, blushing even more.

fWhip nodded, whispered "yes..." and somewhere after that they kissed and it was honestly much better than he ever imagined his first kiss would ever be. And maybe he offered to show Scott his bedroom and maybe they spent the night together, chatting about all the amazing things Scott saw on his journeys until they both passed out. And maybe they were found by a very excited by her discovery Gem.

#my stuff #my stories #nlsmp #nlsmp shipping #nlsmp scott #nlsmp fwhip #scott smajor #fwhip #scfwhip #shipping

[ohlawsons]

ever bittersweet, ch. 02 | dani/herald/ortega, 2316 words welcome to ot3: asshole (affectionate) x asshole (derogatory) x daniel

“Need anything else? A drink? Painkillers?” A pause. “Full body massage?”

Dani leans back with a scowl, tilting their head up to look at Ortega as she leans over the back of the couch, grinning. “Asshole.” There’s no heat behind the words, just the familiar taunting that they know Ortega got used to years ago. “You could toss me the remote.”

“Sure thing.” Instead of grabbing the remote from where it sits on the side table, Ortega moves to sit beside them on the couch. With a guilty sort of look, Daniel follows suit and takes a seat opposite Dani; his thoughts are a flurry of different things, deliberately avoiding some topic that Dani’s too tired to try and work out.

There’s a sudden, uneasy silence over the living room, and Dani’s scowl settles into something deeper. “What is this, a fucking intervention?” The words are too sharp, too unkind; fury and terror and regret roil within their chest, and it takes longer than they’d like to try and calm themself. It’s… hard to remember, sometimes, that neither Daniel nor Ortega have to go through all the trouble to help them, given how wholly and completely they currently are at their mercy. There’s no ulterior motives, no maliciously planned long con — just two people who have seen who they really are and still want to help.

(And there’s that little voice at the back of their mind, viscous and sickly and staining so many of their thoughts these days; it reminds them that this is a weakness, moreso than their broken body and shattered legs.

Fingerprints can be erased. Minds can be altered. But hearts? Hearts are stubborn. Hearts remember.

Their own is proof enough of that.)

They’ve only just calmed their furiously racing pulse when Ortega moves to let an arm drape loosely along the back of the couch, behind Dani, and their pulse spikes again. “You want one?” she asks, voice light but with a sharper edge than normal. It’s a jab meant to tease, Dani knows this, but there’s an invitation to argue. “I never thought something as simple as an intervention would’ve worked on you.”

“Never stopped you from trying.” Theirs is a jab meant to wound. To linger. Scowling, snapping, severing whatever tenuous thread of understanding they’ve worked out with Ortega over the past week.

The fact that they can taste how their words make frustration and disappointment bubble up in Daniel’s mind is satisfying in a way that makes them sick. Like they’re feeding some part of themself they should be killing off, cutting out.

“No, it didn’t.” Good, she’s defensive. Leaning back. Keeping her arm along the back of the couch but gripping it like a lifeline, now. “You want me to apologize for it? For giving a shit? For trying so much harder this time?” She cuts off with a sharp intake of breath, running a hand through her hair; Daniel speaks her name, as soft as he is insistent — he doesn’t want to get involved, Dani can tell, but his thoughts are a whirlwind of concern and frustration and certainty that the tension between the two of them will only ever do more harm than good — but Ortega ignores him. “I’ve already lost you once, Dani. Sorry for trying to be a better friend this time around.”

“A better friend would’ve left me alone when I asked.”

“Dani—“

“That goes for both of you,” they snap, whirling on Daniel as best they can with their injury limiting their movements. They’re not crying — they don’t cry, can’t remember the last time they did — but they can feel the stinging in their eyes, undoubtedly red-rimmed as they glare at him. The anger builds and snarls and aches, a hollow pressure in their chest that rises and sticks in their throat as they turn to face Ortega again. “I’m sorry they didn’t put the fucking pieces back right after they scraped me off the goddamned pavement, but it’s not your job to try and fix that.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.” Soft. Hurt.

There’s a heavy beat of silence; Dani doesn’t know exactly what to say, not just yet, but they know it’s going to be loud. Mean. But Daniel beats them to it, voice sharp and insistent without the cruelty that Dani’s trying to muster up. “Can we please have one conversation that doesn’t immediately become an argument?” he asks, leaning forward, brow furrowed in that particular determined way that Dani’s come to learn. His mind is still a mess of concern for Dani and something he’s keeping stubbornly buried, but a few thoughts slip to the top, in clear view for Dani to read — regret because the conversation wasn’t supposed to go like this, quiet resignation that he’ll just have to be a mediator between them now, and a now-familiar confusion as he tries to navigate where he fits in… this.

Ortega looks away — pulls away — and, as usual, Dani can’t make out her expression. They let out a long, slow breath, taking their anger and shoving it aside, letting that darker, bitter part of them chew on it while they calm themself. “You’re hovering,” they say, voice quiet enough that they’re not sure Daniel will even hear; the little flustered spike of embarrassment from him makes Dani’s lips twitch. Not quite a smile. Not yet. “And I’m… sorry. I’m trying.”

“I know.” It’s Daniel who answers first, with a smile that doesn’t even look forced. “We both do.”

“Are you, though?” When Ortega speaks up again, the words are tired. Soft. Carefully not picking a fight, not this time; she still gets a heated warning glance from Daniel. “Trying?”

“I am.” The truth, hard and bitter but not cruel. “If you want to be the one to wheel me to therapy each week, I won’t argue. I know it’s not fair to be so angry all the time, but I don’t… I don’t know where it comes from or what to do with it.” It takes a moment for them to realize that they’re scratching at their skin, fingers grasping and clawing at their bicep where they know the tattoos are hidden beneath the layers; they need a cigarette, but not badly enough to get into another argument about the habit.

They can sense Daniel moving a fraction of a second before he does, drifting to stand upright to comfort them, but Ortega beats him to it. She reaches — slow, careful, cautious — to place a hand over Dani’s, untangling their fingers from the fabric of their jacket. “Hey.”

“I’m okay.” They don’t pull away, and let Ortega continue to hold their hand, as gentle as she’s ever been with them; their eyes flick over to Daniel, now seated again, brow furrowed in concern even if his thoughts are tinted with confusion — what to do, how to act, if he should still go to them — but not a hint of jealousy. “I’m okay,” they say again, more for his sake now. They aren’t sure he believes them. He isn’t sure he believes them.

But they don’t want to talk about this anymore. About themself. About how fucked up they’ve become.

Besides, if they linger here on the topic any longer, they’ll end up snapping again. Proving their own point. Because they’re supposed to be alone — safe and protected and without weaknesses or liabilities — but somehow they’ve ended up with two people who’ve seen the worst of them and decided to stay.

Perhaps they haven’t seen the worst. But they’ve seen enough.

“Look.” Dani forces out a slow breath, rubbing at their eyes with their free hand. Their vision swims with little black spots when they look up. “You wanted to talk about something.”

“We did. But maybe…” Daniel glances towards Ortega, and his thoughts are all but screaming maybe later, maybe not now. Maybe not the right time.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around things with me,” they say, blunt and plain but not harsh. “I promise that nothing either of you have to say will break me. Trust me. I would know.” Maybe it’s a little cruel to say. A little too sharp of a reminder of the things they’ve gone through. Maybe they’re not trying all that hard, after all, not with the way satisfaction settles deep within the cracks in their chest when Ortega and Daniel both flinch at their words.

The pair shares another glance. Ortega gives a light squeeze to Dani’s hand that she’s still holding, and the smile she offers is a little too warm and sincere. “It’s nothing bad. We just had a talk about what you suggested when we brought you here. About us.”

Oh. Not exactly what they would’ve guessed, but they suppose it makes sense in hindsight given what they’d picked up from Daniel. Fuck — the pain and exhaustion really is getting to them if they couldn’t see that coming.

“And?”

She shrugs, and the smile grows into that cocky, charming grin that Dani’s more used to. “I think the general consensus is we’re game if you are.”

Dani can’t help the sudden, sharp laugh that escapes their lips, the sound more choked than amused — relief and happiness and something warmer and brighter, all released at once. Years of dancing around Ortega. dancing around themself, dancing around the kissing and the avoiding and the whispered not-quite-confessions. A few rushed months of whatever this thing is that they’ve fallen into with Daniel.

(That darker part of their mind speaks up, somewhere between the relief and the warmth they suspect might be love, and reminds them that this is dangerous. Stupid. Twice the risk. Twice the heartbreak — ha. Twice the inevitability that they’ll end up back at the Farm. But maybe they deserve this — happiness and hope and love didn’t get them very far last time, did it, but when this eventually all goes wrong they’ll have twice the anger and regret and self-loathing.

They know how to use that.)

“Well,” they take a long, slow breath, summoning up something more caustic than genuine; more like Ortega, more like themself — barbs meant to prod and poke and tease, not to wound, “as long as we’re all aware that the two of you will have to do all the heavy lifting in this relationship.” Lips pressed into a tight grin, they gesture to their legs, propped up and immobile and covered by a pair of light blankets.

“Of course.” Daniel’s floating, again, but Dani doesn’t even notice until he does and forces himself to land, standing just a few steps away from the couch. Still trying to figure out how this all works, still not sure what to make of the naked adoration on Dani’s face when they look at Ortega — are they that obvious or is Daniel that good at reading them? — and still quietly unraveling an old, long-buried crush on Julia. He’s happy with the way things are working out, his mind bright and radiant in a way that’s… unavoidable. Contagious.

Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing.

...

It’s late. The only light comes from the credits rolling on the tv screen and the faint, hazy orange glow of the Los Diablos night that seeps in through the tinted windows.

The movie’s been over for a good few minutes, now, but no one seems ready to move; Dani’s still seated on one end of the couch, an empty beer bottle in one hand and Daniel’s hands in the other. He sits beside them, close enough to brush against them but always so careful not to press into them or jostle them; he’s been tracing fingers along the lines of the tattoos on Dani’s hand — their tattoos, the ones they’d chosen for themself, thick lines of black ink etched into geometric patterns across the back of their hand. Ortega’s on the other side of him, sprawled against the corner of the couch — one arm draped over the back, one leg tucked up under her, looking like she’s taking up as much space as Daniel and Dani combined.

It’s quiet. Comfortable.

Ortega’s the one to break the fragile silence, letting out a soft curse as she stands and sends one of the empty bottles, discarded at the foot of the couch, rolling across the room. She collects the handful of empty bottles, and when Dani holds theirs out, she takes that one, too.

“Shit.” A poorly stifled yawn. “Didn’t realize it had gotten so late.” She disappears into the kitchen, and after a moment she calls back out, “I should probably get going.”

How often had that been Dani? How many times had they been the one to leave Ortega’s apartment despite the late hour, even knowing that it would be the early hours of the morning by the time they made the trek to their own apartment and slid into bed?

Their thoughts are cut off in a flurry of happy warmth — whether theirs or Daniel’s, they don’t know anymore — as Ortega reappears behind the couch, placing a soft kiss first to the top of Daniel’s head, then Dani’s.

Teasing. Grinning. Idiot.

“Stay?” The word is quiet and slips out before Dani can stop it. They wonder, briefly, if they’re imposing; it is still Daniel’s apartment, after all, but once the offer sinks into his tired mind, he’s beaming, his thoughts bright and pleased and the tiniest bit flustered.

He mirrors Dani, craning his neck to look back at Ortega. “You’re welcome to, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, c’mon, Jules.”

She lets out a little huff of a laugh at the old nickname. “Yeah. Alright. I’m taking the couch though, if that’s not too weird.” She offers a grin that’s wide and cocky and charming, and pairs it with a wink. “I’m not that easy to get into bed.”

Maybe, Dani thinks, this isn’t so bad.

#fhr #julia ortega #fhr herald #chargestep #flystep #sidestep #dani gutierrez tag #fic: dani #brooke writes things #dani is the equivalent of a feral kitten who hisses and spits as theyre being pet

[houseofhurricane]

Against Nostalgia | Chapters One + Two

Summary: Fifteen years after the end of the second war against Voldemort, Hermione Granger is invited to Hogwarts for a one-year appointment as the professor for History of Magic, forcing her to take a break from a successful career at the Ministry of Magic. Draco Malfoy, meanwhile, is Hogwarts' Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He's a former Auror, despite the fact that he still bears the Dark Mark. Though there's mutual distrust between them, sparks quickly fly between Hermione and Draco...sometimes literally. And although the war is long over, it doesn't take an interest in History of Magic to see that history is intent on repeating. Between them, Hermione and Draco have the power to shatter the world they know. Or, maybe, the could make it into something new. (Imagine if they fell in love at the same time.)

Pairing: Dramione

Word Count: 7,740

At the end of September, I woke up with COVID and wanting to write Dramione. This monster of a fic—I think it will end up being around 300k words in total—is what  happened next 🧡

Thank you to @iftheshoef1tz​ + @poisonivy206​ + Carter + Farrah + Gillian, the dreamiest of dream teams, for beta reading this. You made this fic so much better and I’m grateful for all your insights and friendship. All mistakes, as always, are my own.

You can read this fic on Archive of Our Own.

The Forbidden Forest is so dark around him that Draco moves on instinct alone, his Auror training leading him towards the scent of Dark magic. He ignores the burn in his forearm, the Mark that’s hidden under his robes and the thick jumper beneath them.

Even in August, the land around Hogwarts is fucking freezing.

But then, Draco is used to the trees that blot out starlight and the pain that blurs the sharp edges of his thoughts. He’s made these little jaunts for three years now, in colder weather.

What concerns him now, more than cold or darkness or pain, is the threatening tone in the barely-ciphered note he’d received in the early hours of the morning, Ulysses banging against the window in his haste to get inside, leaving gouges on the glass with his talons.

You’d better meet us in the usual spot, the letter had said, written in a jagged and vaguely familiar hand, the quill pressed deep enough to tear the parchment. Not exactly subtle, but the point was more than clear: he was in deep shit, and he’d more than likely be walking blind into a trap. 

However stupid he might think the Faithful Hand are, they’re the only group of Voldemort worshippers who have persisted longer than a year in the current peace.

It’s possible he’s gotten complacent. Usually his pedigree and the Dark Mark have been enough to dazzle anyone with evil aspirations. For the past few years, Draco has passed along half-true tidbits of little importance to the handful of loyal members to the Highlands cell of the Faithful, plastering the old sneer on his face, impersonating his father as much as he can stomach, and those mangy pretenders have lapped up every word, have stared so intensely at the tattoo on his arm that he feels their adoring gazes like the touch of fire. 

The note tells him he might have to try harder from now on.

Finally, the trees around him thin, and as he approaches the clearing, Draco casts the subtlest detection spell in his arsenal, barely flicking his wand. There are the two wizards he expected, and a witch he hadn’t anticipated, young enough that he didn’t attend Hogwarts with her, old enough that he never had her in class.

But, as Draco allows his footsteps to crackle the fallen leaves on the forest floor, it’s her voice that yells Expelliarmus!

There are counterspells, of course, which he mastered as an Auror in the field, but Draco simply lets his wand fall away, gauging its location from the sound it makes against the ground.

He fixes his eyes on the three people in front of him. He raises his hands, palms up. Surrender, or at least its postures, has become habit for him since Hogwarts. They still want to believe his cover, or he would, at minimum, be bound and biting back a scream.

“We know you killed Agnew,” Emerson Macnair says, approaching him with a wand in one hand and a knife in the other.

Read the rest on AO3.

#dramione #dramione fic #hermione granger #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione x draco #draco x hermione #hermione granger x draco #harry potter fic #dark academia #fanfic

[highonwolfstarsmut]

My Regulus Black/James Potter Bookmarks On Ao3 pt1:

!!READ THE TAGS!!

!ALL COMPLETED (except one) AND IN ENGLISH!

Prove It (Restricted) - fuckboyregulus 

“What are you doing here?” A voice asked. It was rough and raw, as if the person had been recovering from a cold, and even though they were clearly at an advantage holding James at gunpoint, there was something gentle and curious about it.

“Just doing my job,” James responded easily, attempting to turn his head slightly to get a look at the person holding the gun against his head, but the metal stayed pressed firmly against his temple, not allowing him to move more than an inch.

Rated: Explicit 

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Words: 7,760 Chapters: 1/1

Freedom Tastes Like Spit - mushroomheadgirl

Regulus’s life is a mess. He's disowned, disinherited, and has been crashing on Sirius and Potter’s couch for the last six months trying to learn how to live a life with no one to answer to but himself. He’s so massively fucked up, that it seems just about right he ends up testing the limits of his newfound freedom in the arms (and the lap) of his brother’s best friend.

Rating: Explicit 

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Words: 2,518 Chapters: 1/1

Lost In Your Current - xjustakay

Regulus should be used to his boyfriend and his ridiculous antics by now, considering how good James Potter is at being absolutely cheeky. Yet, there's always room for a little more surprise, it turns out.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences 

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Words: 734 Chapters: 1/1

Until the very end - britishgaychild

Whilst staying at Grimmauld place, Harry finds a portrait nobody had noticed before. This leads him to learn a lot about his father.

OR

An excuse to show little snippets of Jegulus throughout time without needing to form a big plot whilst also letting out dear Harry know his dad was a little fruity.

Rated: Not Rated 

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M 

Words: 4,706 Chapters: 1/1

Sorry About the Blood In Your Mouth (Restricted)  - fuckboyregulus 

“Don’t be scared,” Regulus said softly, holding his hands up innocently. “I’m not gonna hurt you, baby.”

“Did you…” James’ voice was barely a whisper, “Did you just kill my wife?”

Rated: Explicit 

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Category: M/M

Words: 1,781 Chapters: 1/1

Desks And Decorum - Gigix

James Potter is a bad boss, the worst- In fact, its a miracle his favourite employee even wants to work along side him anymore. Regulus loves his bad boss, loves his flirting and idiotic work plans. Loves everything. Happy to have the opportunity to maybe just be a little bit of a tease.

Rated: Explicit 

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M , F/F

Words: 26,474 Chapters: 10/10

Chase The Thunder Away - orphan_account 

Very little could get James Potter out of bed after running all night with Remus at the full moon. But there is one person, and James Potter never says no to Regulus Black.

Rated: General Audiences 

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Words: 2,383 Chapters: 1/1

In This Mad, Mad World - orphan_account

When Sirius confesses he has a family secret, James is startled and hurt to learn his best friend has kept it from him all these years. The family shame. A brother who was born a squib. When the Marauders agree to spend the summer at Grimmauld Place whilst Sirius' parents are away, everything changes for James Potter--especially after he meets Regulus Black.

Rated: General Audiences 

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Words: 7,059 Chapters: 1/1

just one bite - ScreamingFae 

Western!AU, Vampire!AU

James Potter is the fastest gunslinger in the West, and he's sure he can solve any criminal problem. Even the blood-sucking kind.

Rated: Teen And Up Audiences 

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Words: 2,864 Chapters: 1/1

Muted - adavison 

Words aren't always necessary, but the important things find a way.

Rated: Teen And Up Audiences 

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Words: 1,220 Chapters: 1/1

Making Mends; One Stitch At A Time - poisoninmyteacup

He was done.

Regulus was giving up any hope he had of ever having his brother back, he didn’t want to play his games anymore; pretending everything was fine and the first twenty years of their lives weren’t total shit.

He leaves to walk out the door, ignoring Sirius calling his name, his jacket falling from his shoulders and—

The tattoos. Sirius had never let him see them before.

They were his.

Every tiny sketch, to hour long masterpiece he’d done and sipped under his olde brother’s door as a child was right there in permanent ink on Sirius’ arms.

/ / /

Four years after storming into the ministry and delivering the horcrux to the wizard council Regulus Black is living amongst muggles, in a London apartment with his best friend Pandora Lestrange and her daughter Luna. Until he arrives late from work one day to find an owl in his bedroom with a letter stating his Uncle Alphard has died and he and his older brother will receive an inheritance and manage the funeral.

Now he has to deal with his brother and a not so unexpected crush from his past.

(I'm going to fix up and finish this fic even if it kills me)

Rated: Mature

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category: M/M

Words: 8,805 Chapters: 2/?

#Marauders #the marauders #regulus black #James Potter #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #jegulus fic #jegulus fic links #jegulus #starchaser #i dont know if theyre on Tumblr or not

[therivergirl]

Eda makes an off-handed joke about her arm, but Raine is not always comfortable with her darker sense of humour. They talk it out. Fluff ensues.

----

We need fluff after the King's tide.

So yeah, here everyone is fine and happy, Luz can travel between realms.

----

Full text:

Eda stopped her cart in front of the Owl House and looked at the pile of bags and boxes on it she brought from the market. Luz, King and a few of their friends were on a field trip with Lilith. And they were all arriving in the evening. Along with Camila and Vee who were coming for what was now becoming a traditional weekly dinner. And, as always, she expected more people to appear, because that's how it went these days. So, she got a plethora of food. Should she make it multiple trips?

There were days when she just couldn't be bothered to put her prosthetic on, and this was one of those days. However, sometimes it slipped her mind that missing an arm could affect her life in semi-unexpected ways.

And right now, she was facing the fact that carrying a whole bunch of boxes with one arm was much harder than it used to be with two.

Were these two or even three trips worth of stuff? She groaned at the idea of multiple trips from the kitchen to the entrance. 

"Nah, I can make it in one trip!" she said confidently. She was more than aware that it was just pettiness, that strange type of laziness that resulted in you making your own life harder instead of easier the moment she hooked all the bags on her arm and piled on the boxes.

But, she was determined to make it work and too proud to admit defeat. She was Eda the Owl Lady, she could face beasts, coven heads, fanatic rulers and all-powerful child gods, what was one pile of boxes?

Well, apparently, it was a pain in her butt as she almost dropped it all while trying to open the door. Hooty was asleep. He was doing something the whole night and Eda was both too scared and respectful of his privacy (but mostly scared) to ask what.

As she somehow managed to open the door and hooked it with her leg, trying to get it to fully open, Hooty woke.

"Need a hand?" he asked sleepily. She knew he didn't mean it as a pun, he was too sleepy for it. But boy, considering she was in her current predicament only because her new hand was currently lying at the bottom of her nest it was it hard not to hear it.

She noticed Raine passing by in the living room.

"Nah, don't worry Hooty! Raine should give me a hand, I mean they yanked it away back in the day, it's only fair!" she snorted, catching Raine's attention, "Hey, Rainstorm!" she greeted.

But, instead of laughing back, Raine's demeanour soured, "Yeah, I guess it is only fair," they said, picking up all of the boxes, leaving her with only boxes to carry.

Oh crap.

Oh crap, she was an idiot!

"Hoot!" Owlbert screeched into her ear.

"Oh-oh!" Hooty chimed in.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm an insensitive bitch!" she groused. Apparently, the arm was still a sour topic on certain days.

"Raine," she entered the kitchen, setting the bags on the counter. "You know I'm joking right."

"I don't like when you joke like that, Eda," they said, "like it doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry," she said, approaching them, "I wasn't thinking.".

"No, you weren't," they said, but their voice was soft, there was no real ire in it.

"But I want to reiterate, I don't hold a grudge," she said.

"Well, you should! I'm the reason you lost a limb, Eda! Your life was turned upside-down and-"

"Hey, my life is great, thank you very much! Firstly, I'm actually alive! You're the reason I'm alive, you saved my life that day, quite stupidly risking your own in the process!"

"I should've never even gone with that plan!" they spat, "I still curse myself every day for it! If we didn't go through with it then, then-

"Raine Whispers!" she said firmly and they looked at her, "May I remind you that we went with that plan. I did that willingly. I risked my life, you risked yours. You wanted to protect me, well, I wanted to protect you. And my kids. And my sister. And every other person on these bloody isles! Ok?"

Rain smiled softly and nodded. Titan, they loved her. They made a step closer, resting their head against her chest and she pulled them into a one-armed hug.

"Look, I won't say there aren't days when this," she lifted her stump, "is inconveniencing. But I still like living! Titan, that sounds cheezy, but it's true. I've got you, and King and Luz, and her ever-growing horde of friends and Lilith and Hooty and everyone. And I can still fly and turn into an awesome harpy form. And I wouldn't have any of that if it weren't for you and your stupid self-sacrificing heart," she kissed the top of their head, "ok?"

"Ok. I'm sorry too,” they said, “I’m not trying to tell you how to cope or how to joke about your own missing arm. If you’re over it, I should be too but-

"You aren't," she said, cupping their face, "that's fair. If the roles were reversed, I probably would've done the same and be messed up now myself about it."

"Of course, I'm messed up about it, I hurt you!" they pulled away from the hug slightly. 

"Hey, none of that. I know that in any other circumstance, you wouldn’t touch even a feather on my wing," she said, looking them directly in the eyes, "you saved me. You made a decision that could not have been easy to make.”

“That is the problem,” Raine said, taking her hand between theirs, running their fingers over the back of her hand, “It was easy. I didn’t like it, but it was easy. But just because the decision was easy, it does not mean it was an easy thing to do. I don’t feel guilty about taking your arm to save your life. I feel guilty because you were there in the first place.”

“I know that. And I’m glad you made that decision. And I don’t regret any of mine, ok? And I won’t have you feel guilty or beat yourself up over it, ok? I'll keep repeating that until it gets thought that thick bardic skull of yours. I'll get Hooty to sing it to you,"

This got a chuckle out of them, "you wouldn't..."

"Oh, I would. You know I would. Let me ask what you were thinking at that moment?" she said. To someone, it may sound counterproductive, to keep picking at the wound, but she knew it would work.

The way they looked at her, their smile filled with so much love and admiration was enough to make her melt, "That I couldn't watch you die, that I needed you safe, especially since I had a promise to keep, no matter what.”

"And you did just that, Rainstorm." she lifted their chin and pulled them in for a kiss. "I'm alive because of you. Because of the witch I love.”

"And I love you," they said, "and I'll sort all these messy feelings one day."

“As long as you need. I know all about messy feelings,” she chuckled bitterly, “Don’t have too many about this though, arm or life, I choose life. Besides, this way I’m a wild witch again. And one with a pretty awesome prosthetic that I’m just too lazy to put on on certain days,” she snorted, “really should though, that thing makes me look badass."

“You always look badass,” Raine blushed, “Though, I must ask. While I get that you’re comfortable without it, I’m glad actually, why go to the market without it?”

“Because I was never known for good decisions, and you know that!” she laughed, “I was just too fucking lazy to bother with thinking about things practically it this morning!”

"Eda, language!"

"Hey, what are you, my mother? Kids are not around, I can curse! Unless your ears are too sensitive for it!”

Raine shook their head fondly, “Force of habit, I guess,” they joked. The house was always so filled with kids that warning Eda, and often Darius when he would come around, practically became a tick of theirs.

"Now come on, Rainstorm,  while we have human realm visitors today and this dinner had to be perfect,” she said, looking at the clock "it’s also 11 AM and the dinner is at 6. We got some time.” she walked slowly to the living room, still keeping them in an embrace.

“For what?”

“I don’t know,” she pulled them closer, “a nap? A cuddle? Hooty is here so nothing more than a cuddle…”

“Eda, I should restock my books, and-Whoa!” they gasped as she threw herself on the sofa, pulling them with her.

She let them go, “Ok, go restock books, I won’t keep you trapped!”

They frowned, “You know full well I’m not able to say no to this right now, you temptress!”

“Mmmhm, guilty as charged! I tempted you into taking a break and cuddling on a sofa…”

“You’re the worst” they turned around and kissed her on the cheek. “Mind if I read?”

“Nope. Mind if I do this?” she asked, wrapping her arm and her stump around them, keeping them as close as possible and resting her head on top of theirs.

“You know I don’t,” they said, summoning their violin and only playing a few notes, making a book float from the bookshelf and two cups of tea from the kitchen.

With the book, they relaxed, leaning against Eda, who contently closed her eyes, just enjoying their presence.

It was domestic bliss she never thought she would have, let alone want. But now, with the bard she loved in her arms, well, arm, knowing that the kids are coming home after their field trip with Lilith, she would not change it for anything in the world.

#eda clawthorne #the owl house #raine whispers #raeda #fluff #minor angst #fanfiction

[deldeldel90]

 Like a shaggy, unwanted dog, Whitney roams the land, one foot after the other, he says to himself. Just a little while longer, and he'll find food. Not even food, somewhere to stay for the night. 

 The moon mocks him, and it makes him feel rage, before sorrow overtakes him. 

 The kind of sorrow that makes him want to sob and scream, even knowing that it would've made him even more in pain, as his jaw is still crusted with blood from his misfortunes with certain animals. 

 Whitney is in control, though. He knows himself. He knows the truth. 

 It's all his fault, isn't it? That statement took a while for him to come to terms with. 

 At first, he was in denial. He didn't do anything wrong. He was just doing what he needed to. What everybody wanted him to do. 

 But no. The pieces don't match that. The puzzle he's crafted is nothing but a ruse. The pieces are Mitch-Matched and horrible, creating a vision he never wanted, but cannot deny they fit perfectly. 

 His brother poisoned him. His baby brother, the one he'd looked forward to in secret. 

 And he left his poor little sister - Blacquelyn - all alone with him. He ruined both his siblings, infected them with his cruelty. 

 He could've prevented this. 

 Blacquelyn used to smile so bright. She used to whisper to him how much she adored animals. She used to ask- no, plead- for him to sing her lullabies. He never did. 

 Greydon would follow him to the end of the earth, and then some more. He'd jump in surprise whenever Whitney would even touch him. His eyes, always so dull, would color in a way he never thought was possible. 

 Those children would die because of him. Blacquelyn to Greydon, and Greydon to himself. Or maybe it'd be the other way around. 

 But either way, it's all his fault. That fact never changes. 

 Whitney's hair is too long, going just above (from the last time he checked) his shoulders. His parents always liked it short, but now that he was left with practically nothing to cut it, along with a horrid cursed face, it wasn't like he could impress them. 

 Maybe in another life, Blacquelyn would braid his hair. Maybe in another life, Greydon would've bragged about growing out his hair to match his older brother- who he looked up to so, so, so much. 

 Maybe in another life, Whitney would actually be worth loving. 

 Feeling rather uncomfortable, he tugs on the bandana that lays on his wrist. He fought with a rather angry stray to get it, and it's currently one of his most prized possessions. The stray had this silky white fur, and was glaring at him like he had ruined its life.

 ("Don't blame it," the voice of guilt whispered in his head. "You may have, it seems to be a hobby of yours. A cursed doll who brings destruction and misery to those in his path.) 

 On the bandana, it said in fancy, loopy embroidery, "Anteros, for whom forgiveness stands for."

 The cat (Anteros? A rather somber name. He would've chosen Fluffy or something) attacks him whenever it sees him. 

 Striking out of his thoughts, he nearly falls over whenever he crashes into a trashcan, filled to the brim with all sorts of nasty things. He was about to walk away when he saw something that caught his interest..

 Whitney almost grins when he sees what he's stumbled upon. It's a backpack- an old… some other color, but it's sort of murky, maybe?, one. 

 He doesn't notice how the sun is slowly approaching. How he's stayed up wondering all night. How the last time he's actually ate was around three days ago. 

 He's not sure he cares.  

#cursed princess club #cross posted on ao3 #cpc oneshot #cpc angst #cpc whitney #cpc blacquelyn #cpc greydon

[princesscolumbia]

Double Isekai, Ch. 2

Yes, I've posted a preview for ch. 1 after I got ch. 3 up and posted, but I figure it can't hurt to post more previews, so 1 preview post per day until I hit the currently posted number of chapters:

Summary:

Dreams give loved ones a chance to say hello...and goodbye. A chance meeting at a mall requires some fast thinking.

Preview of Ch. 2 below the fold:

Startled more than hurt, the redhead scrambled back and clapped her hands over her nose. "Oh, you sonova..." she growled.

"It's 'bitch,' thank you, I left the 'son of a' part behind years ago."

"Yeah, 'cause you were too pussy to handle bein' a man!"

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, for cryin'...I get you're still in high school, but you got access to my entire life! At least come up with better insults!"

Ranma dropped her hands back down to her sides and glared, "What right do you have tellin' my ma I aint a man?!"

She gave Ranma a flat stare, "Ranma, we're in our own fuckin' dreamscape and you're a girl right now!" Ranma looked down at herself as though the self-examination would change her gender presentation. "Maybe tell me you're a man when you're not sporting stonking huge tits and a vagina on the personification of your inner self."

"This is just the curse!" tried Ranma.

"Nope, we both know that aint true. Your girl-form is the spitting image of your mother, just...you know, smaller."

"Hey!"

"You know, like a compact car."

"Why you...!"

"Pocket sized."

"Fucking...cross dresser!"

She shut her mouth so hard her teeth clacked as Ranma's insult hit home. The muscles in her cheeks flexed repeatedly as she worked to control her anger.

Ranma took the opportunity to growl, "My pops raised me to be a man! That's my destiny, not that you'd get that! You just gave up!"

"Of course I gave up! I stopped tryin' to be a man 'cause I wasn't one and I was just...tired." The heat in her voice cooled significantly and she sagged against the tree she'd been slammed up against, "You're sixteen years old, Ranma. You've been dealing with the dysphoria for, what, five years? Maybe 10 if you gained enough awareness that young to understand gender like that? Then you get the girl body you really want, the one you were supposed to have and you're fighting it!" She sagged down further, finally sitting on the ground at the base of the tree. "I had been fighting it for so...long. Gods, it hurts to even think about," she felt her eyes pooling with tears, "I made charts and graphs and little how-to manuals for myself and every time something came along that was 'how men are supposed to be' I studied it like I was going pro at it and every...damn...time it always failed to make me feel like a man inside."

Ranma had a haunted look as she heard the description of a life lived in dysphoria. "I aint..."

"Ranma, shut the fuck up. You know what I know. You know what I felt like and I can feel it in your memories, too!" She sighed and scrubbed at her face. "Listen, if I could leave, I would. You can guess I'm rather eager to get back to my daughter and girlfriend. But I can't, Ranma! We're stuck, we're officially Tuvix'd. Pretty much only a Q or God could split us at this point, and we're in the wrong universe for Q to notice and God's a fucking sonovabitch who I will happily punch in the goddamn face and he knows it."

Ranma just glared at her for a moment, then ground out, "I will beat you, whatever it takes!"

She thumped her head against the tree, "Ranma, there's nothing to beat! It's already over. I'm you, you're me. The only thing left is for our memories to finish merging."

"So, what, you're gonna eat me from the inside like some reverse lyctor?"

"It's already done, Ranma! 'You' and 'I' are just concepts! The fact that you know what a lyctor is in this context should be proof enough for you!"

"Of course I know what a lyctor is! They're..." she paused, disturbed shock spreading over her face.

"Yeah, see? You're getting it now. I know about lyctors as a concept where a necromancer 'eats' a cavalier at the soul level to gain eternal life because I read about it in Gideon the Ninth. That book won't be published, if it's published in this universe, until the late 2010s. The property its inspired by isn't even going to be made for 20-30 years. You only know that because I know that."

Ranma dropped to the ground, landing on her butt with a muted thump. "...but..."

"I know."

"I didn't..." complained the redhead.

She sighed, sadness and sympathy in her expression, "I know."

"You can't just..."

"I didn't, Ranma. That's the nature of the isekai. It's not a grand scheme or a destiny or a plan, it just happens." She shrugged, "I mean, now that it's happened to me I've got more theories, but it all boils down to the most ridiculous dice roll ever. The odds are literally infinity upon infinity upon infinity to one...but because the dice get rolled an infinite number of times, that 'one' shows up an infinite number of times." She gestured expansively at the sky, which was a hazy suggestion of a starscape, "Out there in the multiverse, someone is being disintegrated spontaneously and reappearing in a dungeon in a fantasy reality. Somewhere a dwarf is being crushed by a collapsing mine to wake up in modern day New York City. Some dumbass punk kid is going to bed perfectly secure that nothing strange will happen to him and wake up in charge of a Starfleet ship in a universe where the Federation was founded by Risa instead of Earth and it turns out he's the protag of a sci-fi harem doujin."

Ranma was practically curled up on herself by this point, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The older, more experienced girl watched Ranma collapse in on herself and her voice softened, "And somewhere, some divorced rando decided to turn off a freeway early because of a traffic alert on her phone and got t-boned by an out-of-control garbage truck."

Ranma's eyes popped open, fear and emotional pain radiating from them as she wordlessly pleaded for something she couldn't quite define.

"I'm dead, Ranma. Even if I could leave your body and soul to you again, I'd have nowhere to go. I've got a beef with God large enough to butcher and feed a large third-world country so my chances of getting into heaven are pretty fuckin' slim. I wasn't even sure there was a 'soul' to have an afterlife with until this happened."

They stared at each other in silence across the clearing, the dream world slowly shifting around them.

She broke the silence after a bit, "You know, you're startin' to look a lot like my sister did at your age."

Read the rest on AO3.

#ranma 1/2 #ranma #fanfiction #fanfic #tlt mention #star trek mention #isekai #webnovel #ranma saotome #nodoka saotome #1980s #1980s nostalgia #80s #eighties #1985 #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #ao3 writer

[the-multiversal-wanderer]

Crackpot Theories: The Magnus Protocol edition Part 1: FR3-D1 and the voices within Section 1: Chester and Norris

Before we start I again will say this will have some spoilers for both Archives and Protocol so I say again if you haven't go read at least a synopsis of the 5th season of Archive and the first two episodes of Protocol if you don't have the time to watch both series.

So with that being said read on if you either don't fear spoilers or have already listen to everything.

Okay so before this theory begins we must make a few assumptions.

assumption the first: Protocol while not taking place in the Archives universe at least follows a similar timeline to Archives up until the institute burns in 1999 leading to a timeline divergence

assumption the second: everyone in archives exists somewhere in the protocol timeline though they may be different to their Archive timeline counter part. but there are a few exceptions to this that will be mentioned in another part of this particular theory

So with that lets get to the meat and potatoes of this theory, FR3-D1 and in particular the voices of Chester and Norris. Before you yes I will cover Augustus, just not in this section as Augustus... well its a whole other can of worms to deal with. it will possibly need it's own subsections.

Anyways so to give context to those who either haven't listened to protocol or just need a quick refresher FR3-D1 is a tailor made program made most likely in 1996~1997 for O.I.A.R which had started using Windows NT 4.0, which was released in the summer of 1996, as state by Alice while she was explaining the case filing system to Sam.

Sam starts his second case which ends up being what is known as a chatty case by Alice. For future reference I will call these Chatter cases. Chatter cases are what most of those currently working for the O.I.A.R believe to be a glitch cause by the age of the FR3-D1 program. Alice tells Sam of the three voices of FR3-D1. The first one is Norris the most common of the three. Next is Chester the more uncommon of the three. Then finally Augustus the rarest of the three. So far we have only heard Norris and Chester who are voice by Alexander J. Newall and Jonathan Sims respectfully. These two are the same two who voiced Martin blackwood and Jonathan Sims (or Jon) respectively in Archives. Now this may just be me looking for connections where there aren't any but i feel that these two using the exact voice as two past characters. These two, Alexander J. Newall and Jonathan Sims are the creators of both Archives and Protocol and the fact that they used the exact same voice they did for their characters in Archives is odd to say the least, while this could be a tongue and cheek reference for fans who listened to Archives there is just enough things that don't point to this not being a reference that things get muddled.

There is also the whole bit in the transcripts that comes before Chester and Norris speak it says Cyberspace.

But back to the theory, I believe that Chester and Norris are actually Martin and Jon or rather they are they Archives version of Martin and Jon as both Jon and Martin already exist in the Protocol universe if we assume this timeline closely follows the Archives timeline and we can't have people be replaced by their Archive counterparts (again with a few exceptions). So instead of not being brought along with The Eye, over to Protocol (something I will explain more in one of the subsections in the Augustus section) they were reincarnated into Chester and Norris two of three voices in the program (FR3-D1) that is under the control of The Eye though I think there is the influence of another fear entity (theory for another time).

I also want to bring back the point about the transcript saying cyberspace as I believe if Jon and Martins souls are Chester and Norris then the bit about cyberspace is explained by Jon and martin speaking as Chester and Norris in cyberspace.

And that is where this section ends yes very cut and dry but then this section and future section are plausible at beast and only held up by strings at others.

There was some thing that was brought up in my last post on the fire at the institute (reference to this post) @gammija mentioned in the comments, also thank you friend for correcting me I was going off the transcript on which I didn't see the 1999 and I missed the ARG and while I'm into ARGs Protocol has one is too big for me to finish the monster that is a monster of a ARG but that's besides the point. Anyways @gammija had basically asked if the institute burned in 1999 then why did Chester, Norris and Augustus start reading off cases in 2021?

Now I don't have a good answer to that here is what I got. I think we have two options or a combination of the two. Option 1 is that we have time shenanigans and Chester (Jon), Norris (Martin) and Augustus (???) only arrived to protocol in the year 2021. second is that we have manipulation from The Web and Chester (Jon), Norris (Martin) and Augustus (???) have always been in FR3-D1 and as we have seen with what FR3-D1 has been doing it's very similar to the tape recorders (a theory for another time). Option three though assumes both are true but in stead of The Web silencing or activating the voices The Web places the three into FR3-D1 in 2021.

I was planning on getting all of these done before the next episode drops but I don't think I will. I have been writing this post on off for the last few days. when I planned this to be the shortest of the FR3-D1 theories. this is not what I expected

#crackpot theories #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #tmagp theory #tma theory #but only by proxy #theory crafting #we are grasping at strings here #tma spoilers #tmagp spoilers #fr3 d1