#I DON'T KNOW THE SHIP NAME

[angrysheeproject]

The Khun/Wangnan Dynamic

I don't need to explain who's who Wangnan afterwards:

[the-one-that-weeps]

Speaking of a Kanaan event, once upon a time I had a unit shuffle in which Kanade and An were stuck together.

Since she never met Mafuyu or N25 she's basically what she was like in Depths of Despair, aka; not good. She's also quite guilty for taking so much space in a group of performers like An and keeps pushing herself too hard. When someone acknowledges this, she snaps, recoils, and denies the need for any help.

There was a particular scene where Kanade admitted that all her hard work is "for someone". This is the most vulnerable she's been the whole story. An finds this detail wonderful and says she's also driven by a special person, and tells her about Nagi and how she's waiting for her to see her improvement.

Kanade smiles and remarks that both Nagi and An seem like wonderful people. They both vow to wait for the people that started their journey for them.

A year later An discovers Nagi's situation. Kanade invites her to the Carnation field to make her feel better. When An asks why Kanade reminds her of the previous scene and tells her that now it's her turn to take care of An, even if they're vow cannot fully be fulfilled.

An asks if one day Kanade will feel comfortable enough to help An meet her dad. Kanade says that once the stench of the hospital turns forgiving for both of them, it'll be the first thing they'll do.

Kanade braids carnations into Ann's hair like her mother and An taught her. She thinks An looks pretty. They both vow to keep each other safe until then. "What happens after that?" "We'll find something else" "and you'll still be here?" "Will you" "I sure hope so..." "then I'll stay close too"

[weird-god666]

As promised, Human Tad Strange!

Colored and Uncolored versions! Bonus info and art under the cut :)

Wanted to make kids versions to for the sillies.

FUN FACT! The scar on Tad's eye/face (and more on his body but I haven't drawn them) is from the whole dimension go bye bye thing. As from canon lore, Bill was the only one with one eye, so I made it lore actuate in the kid versions. He wears glasses because I said so (It hides his scars) and I got him hair extensions mainly for the look, but I also like to think he had more black coloring in his hair (like Bill) before the scarring and still wanted that piece of home, like how Bill keeps his speck of dust. When in his normal form, he wears his wedding ring on his hat, and he wears it on his hand when he's in human form. In case it wasn't clear; Tad is married to Stanley. I don't know if this counts as Shapes and Pines because this is mainly my own ideas, but I have enjoyed the AU from the parts I've seen so many of my ideas are BASED off the AU.

...also the demon is from my friend. Shoutout to Barrett!

[coralcatsea]

I would like to see Ukraine dominating America.

Unfortunately I haven't had any luck finding art of this. 😩

[margoshrmargoshing]

The Aliens are stealing me. Drops a wreckscream fic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58650616

STUPID YAOI ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[edupunkn00b]

House Call

Photo by Insung Yoon via Unsplash

Rated: T - WC: 1553 - CW: swearing, medication, vomiting and nausea, terminal illness

Wilson's been away and House goes to investigate.

(For my Sanders Sides friends, there are some familiar archetypes in this material. You might find it worth the read.) -

Thunk-thunk-thwack. Thunk-thunk-thwack. House had swiped this squash ball from Wilson a year, maybe a year and a half ago by now. It had been so long since Jimminy Cricket had been to his office, he still hadn't noticed his theft. Bouncing the ball against against the floor, then the wall, House tilted his chair further. The steady thwacking and the faint creak of his chair nearly drowned out the sound of the latest batch of interns’ greetings. Maybe farewells. He looked out the window and watched the parking lot lights click on. Farewells, then.

Desiccated leaves had collected in Wilson’s parking spot, the cement tire stop now edged in enough moss he could see it from three floors up. Were the maintenance guys even bothering anymore? House stared as a fresh eddy of fall's detritus danced over the vacant spot, one last thwack of rubber against his palm deciding for him.

He put down the ball and picked up the small amber bottle on his desk, then pushed up from his chair.

He had a house call to make.

It took an embarrassingly short time to pick Wilson’s lock. As soon as he opened the door, he was struck with the scent of sickness. Not just the sour-sweet odor of vomit, but plastic and rubbing alcohol, stuffy air and sweat. Pain.

“Working from home, my ass,” he muttered, kicking aside a blue recycling bin overflowing with empty electrolyte bottles. He closed the door with his elbow and the hall was plunged into darkness. After a moment, House’s eyes adjusted, a blueish glow spilling in from the kitchen and a dim splash of yellow from the opposite hall.

He followed the light and was greeted by the unmistakable sound of retching.

“Really tied one on last night, I see,” he said before he stepped into the bathroom. Dressed in a faded Princeton Rowing Crew hoodie and flannel pants, Wilson curled over the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl. “You know you need protein more than electrolytes for a hangov—”

Wilson straightened and looked back at him, eyes bloodshot under a thick woolen beanie. He was jaundiced, skin stretched over the sharp, too, too sharp bones of his face. The flesh around his lymph nodes was red and puffy.

His eyebrows had fallen out.

In the corner next to the trash bin was a small red sharps collector and red plastic bag half-filled with drained IV bags in various sizes. Oh.

“So the cancer doctor gets cancer,” House muttered, eyes narrowed and grip tight on his cane. “‘Medice, cura te ipsum,” he said with a little flurried jazz hand. [Physician, heal thyself.]

“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” Wilson snapped—no, panted— back at him before falling silent again. House could count the veins in his eyelids, the shadows underneath a dark bruised purple. Cheeks sunken beneath his high cheekbones, his lips trembled, chapped, thin, and pale. He didn’t need a meter to tell him Wilson was hypoxic, most likely from his vomiting and whatever damned cocktail he’d dosed himself with.

Wilson's eyes cracked open and House caught a glimpse of shiny brown before he turned away from him and addressed the collection of bottles laid out on the counter. “Opening up a pharmacy?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to get a side gig.” If it weren’t for Wilson sounding so fucking broken, they could’ve been bickering in his office about Cuddy’s latest HR memo. “Metastatic cancer treatment’s expensive.”

“You’d get a better margin turning tricks. Though you’d have to keep from puking on your johns.” House scowled down at the empty glass vial in his hand before tossing it in the sink. He picked up a large amber bottle and turned to glare at Wilson. “You’re combining talquetamab and nilutamide?”

He barely shrugged.

House stared. Wilson’s eyes had fallen closed again, head lolling against the side of the shower. He looked so…

“Get up.” House snapped and hobbled across the room. He leaned hard on his cane, the tip wedged into the corner of the tub and the wall. Keeping his weight on his good, well, his better leg, he reached for Wilson’s upper arm.

Wilson’s eyes shot open, darting and wild, softening only once he focused on House’s face. He’d fallen asleep. Or, given the mix of chemicals he was marinating in, more likely lost consciousness. “Still me,” House muttered and grabbed his arm. His whole hand wrapped around Wilson’s bicep. “You should be in bed.”

Eyes closing, he shook his head and fumbled blindly at the tank before his arm dropped back in his lap. The meaning was clear. 

“Nope.” House didn’t let go of his arm. “I’ll bring you a bucket. Now come on, Dr. Wilson—” The catch in his throat was nothing more than the jolt of pain that shot through his hip as he helped him to his feet. Wilson had always been trim, annoyingly light on his feet. Now, though? Now he was like a bird, hollow-boned and just as fragile.

Wilson’s bedroom didn’t have much furniture. A bed and a nightstand. A tiny desk littered with marked up and flagged medical journals and thick, ominous envelopes from the hospital staff’s insurance company. There was an IV stand next to the bed and a cooler emblazoned with Property of Princeton-Plainsboro in big, red letters. The bedding was twisted, the comforter half-draped over the floor. Between the late hour and the pajamas, House guessed Wilson had been hoping to sleep off the meds. When did that ever work?

House waited to speak again until he’d gotten Wilson settled under his covers, a plastic-lined pail next to his bed, and a fresh bag of saline drip, drip, dripping its way into his arm. “You mind?” he said after sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. Besides the desk chair across the room, there was some fluffy Edwardian number that looked like he’d managed to free from the grip of his ex-wife’s claws. It also looked like it weighed more than Wilson did and House wasn’t delusional enough to try to drag it over just for the sake of propriety.

Wilson didn’t answer, but he let his hand rest in the space between them. House drummed his fingers against his cane grip before blurting out, “How long?”

Deep chocolate eyes searched his. He’d broken capillaries in his sclera, maybe even a little opportunistic conjunctivitis for flavor. Wilson tried to hold his gaze. “‘Til I’m dead?”

“I don’t need an oncologist to tell me that.” House cleared his throat and refocused. It was easier to watch the pulsepoint between his eyebrows. “How long were you planning on keeping this a secret? It’s been, what…” He lifted Wilson’s hand, forefinger and thumb meeting around his bony wrist. “Eighteen months?” Wilson looked away, a huff of laughter turning into a rattling cough. 

House waited until he'd stopped and wiped his mouth with the cloth on the nightstand. But he didn’t let up. “Your last annual was six months ago and you’re too far along for that to have been when you caught this.”

“Twenty-three,” Wilson muttered, head heavy on the pillow. “Found a mass in the shower.”

“Two years?” He stabbed his cane against the floor. “Two years!?” Wilson still wouldn’t look at him. Two fucking years. That was… that just after Amber and… “God dammit, Wilson, you idiot! You’ve been hiding this from me for two years? Who else knows?” Who was keeping this from him? Who was helping Wilson hide his sickness?

Wilson didn’t speak.

Anger came easy. “Who. Else. Knows?” House’s voice was low and dangerous and Wilson’s continued silence confirmed it. “Oh…” He looked away, slowly nodding. “Everyone.” His… friend had told everyone he was dying but him.

“No-one,” Wilson whispered, fingers grazing the edge of House’s sleeve. “If I couldn’t tell you…” House watched Wilson’s hand as it fell against his own, words not making any sense. “There was no-one to tell.”

“Bullshit. If you’re not going to be straight with me—” House pushed on his cane but he couldn’t make himself stand. 

Wilson’s fingers curled against his hand. “Why would I lie now, House?”

“Everyone lies,” He spat back but he didn’t move away. Wilson’s hand was so damn cold. “You’re telling me you didn’t tell Cuddy?”

He sighed, breathe wet and rattling in his lungs. “Would I be here with stolen meds if she knew?” 

“You moron!" He pounded the floor with his cane, punctuating each word. "Why didn’t you…” House's throat seized, choking out the rest of his question. Why didn’t you tell me?

Wordless, Wilson turned his head and closed his eyes. House didn’t need him to actually say it, did he? The rest of his words sat in the air between them, each of them quiet enough he kept time off some clock ticking out in the living room. Wilson was still enough that House thought he might have fallen asleep. He was considering moving over to the chair when Wilson’s eyes cracked open and he turned his hand next to House’s, palm up. An invitation. A request.

“You know now,” Wilson whispered.

The rubbing alcohol he’d used to prepare Wilson’s IV hung in the air, stinging his eyes and drawing out hot, heavy tears. He nodded and took Wilson’s hand. “I know now.”

[tulowitzki]

y'all got trevor trending instead of jamie good job everyone

[beevean]

A guilty pleasure of mine for the ship meme:

Rouge + Topaz ?

I haven't watched X in ages so I don't have strong feelings on them, but there was definitely something going on between them :P

Jokes aside I vaguely remember them having a solid relationship. X had surprisingly interesting human characters.

[woofleskun]

Summed a ̶B̶o̶y̶friend

[incorrect-splatoon]

Do you think Frye and Shiver hugs like shark and eels do, you know they just affectionatly slide their head against each other :

I love to imagine everyone is really confuse by their gesture and no one get it.

[nostalgic90s]

I wanna know Ian's first thought(s) when he heard Lip masturbating on the top bunk. I kinda think it went like this:

"Oh. Shit. Should I say something? No. I'll act like I never heard anything gross."

(Second time) "Okay he's doing it again. It's not so bad, just a few minutes and he'll be done."

(Third time) "Oh God, please be loud this time Lip. Please-" All the while Ian is thrusting into his own hand.

[bibliophilicstranger]

Ship or Sink: Snape and Narcissa?

Depends on the fic, I suppose. I've read it done well before. I can't remember the fic I remember this happening in off the top of my head but it works well in Snape-raises/takes in-Harry fics when Draco is Snape's godson and spends his time with Snape to avoid Lucius. I'd almost certainly never read a fic just for this ship but it's fine in the background.

[dapper-lil-arts]

Can we talk about the kind of woman Applejack attracts.

[cornettopickuplines]

I really like Dan Feng... Dan Heng not that much (NOT BIASED AT ALL !!!)

[kiisaes]

apple of my eye 🔪

[undead-knick-knack]

POV: You're Ashton Greymoore