#IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN CANON DAMN IT!

[theimaginatrix27]

I've been in the Star Trek fandom spaces long enough, time to talk publicly about a thing that I am injecting into every fic where it is relevant

So if you've been paying attention to my blog the last couple months, you will know I am a huge fan of @enbygesserit 's work. They write the absolute best Dominion lore and fic I have ever had the pleasure of reading/encountering, and I eat up each new piece like my favourite confectionery.

What I am about to discuss predates any exposure I had to their work by at least thirteen years.

And the ship it surrounds was my DS9 OTP for two entire decades (before I discovered the O'Brien polycule and now my DS9 otp is a "One True Polyamorous tangle", but moving on).

That ship being Kiraodo. My heart broke when Odo confessed his love to an apparently dying Kira, she said she loved him back, and that was the clue for him to realise she was not Kira at all. And then when the Female Changeling Voice of the Link told him Kira would never love him because he was a Changeling, I was a tiny sad twelve-yo who thought, "But I love him!" And then I wanted it to be a thing.

And when I found out it was a thing in canon but they had to part ways at the end of the series, I was happy and sad at the same time.

I was a teenager, I didn't know the relationship felt awkward to some (though to be fair I still hated Children of Time and what the alternate/Gaia Odo did, but I address that in another fic so it's fine). I just wanted the sad Changeling and the fiery Bajoran to prove the mean Changeling wrong.

But also, I acknowledged to myself, even in 2009-10, that it would not be fair to Odo at all to make him leave his people again so quickly. I felt sympathetic toward the Changelings/Founders even as a teenager who had not and would not see DS9 in its entirety (curse you, cable TV! You with your reruns and exorbitant prices making it so hard for us to keep you for more than a few months at a time!) Anyways, I knew even then that I didn't want to take Odo away from his people again, even for him and Kira to be together.

So what was my solution?

Here were the canon points I considered at age nineteen (I was creating the bare bones of the Galactic Warp AU at the time and also had a strict must-adhere-to-canon policy for any fanfic ideas I'd had at the time):

The Great Link turned Odo into a solid.

The baby Changeling in The Begotten turned him back, at the cost of its life (but maybe not if it hadn't already been dying).

Therefore, it is canonically possible for a solid to become a Changeling.

What if Kira had been Changelinged?

WHY IS THAT NOT CANON?

I have this as a significant plot point in any Kiraodo content I'm going to write, so if you see Kiraodo becoming a thing in any fic, expect to see Changeling Kira show up somewhere.

"But wait!" someone yells. "You just said you didn't want to take Odo from his people, and Kira's Bajoranness is a huge part of her identity! And you're gonna just take that away from her?"

No, actually. You think the Prophets give a shit whether or not Kira's corporeal form is solid? Fuck no, they're not corporeal and time is not linear for them! The Kira is always the Kira. The Kira is always of Bajor. The Kira is always beloved of the Prophets.

This holds true in every single fic in which I have inserted this. Kira doesn't always become a Changeling full time (some of my AUs have magic), but more importantly, She never stops being Bajoran in the ways that really matter.

Which, if this had been a canon episode, would have been emphasised by the Prophets themselves and I am not taking critique on this.

"But the Founders would never do this in canon!" I hear you cry. "They hate solids and the Voice doesn't like Kira especially!"

First of all, the convoluted love triangle between Odo, Kira and the Voice was stupid.

Second of all, it doesn't even have to be them who do it, we got other more powerful entities around! Q was basically banned from DS9, sure, but what if Kira and Odo weren't on DS9?

Here's my idea for how this could have happened in canon, if the writers had really wanted to sell us the ship.

Odo and Kira have been away on a mission together (doesn't matter where, they just have to be off the station). It's sometime in Season 6, post the Dominion occupation of DS9. When the runabout returns, Odo coms the station and says he needs to give them warning about something, and they're going to have to take him at his word, however hard that may be.

"What's wrong?" Sisko asks. "And where's Major Kira?"

In response, Odo holds up his bucket. There is a Changeling in goo form inside.

"There was an—incident while we were returning from our mission. It was successful, by the way."

Sisko stares at the screen intently for a moment.

"Are you saying," he asks slowly, "that Major Kira was replaced by a Changeling?"

"No, Captain," Odo responds. "I am saying this Changeling is Major Kira."

Cue opening theme!

And possibly this would be a two-parter! I feel that with the whole theme of DS9 being nuance, and with the Dominion being such a big deal, it deserves to be!

Basically the plot would first involve a flashback to Q popping in while Kira and Odo are arguing about something Changeling-related or whatever, going "You know, I've been watching you and yours for a while now—from a safe distance of course—and frankly, I've been surprised by the lack of nuance with regard to the Founders."

And Kira's all, "Oh come on, don't you start with this high-and-mighty attitude! I read all the records about you after your last visit to Deep Space 9, you don't have any room to talk!"

"And neither do you," Q fires back. "You think your terrible acts were justified, don't you? Oh, you know they were dreadful, the fact that you could be so violent distressed you so! But when it comes down to it, you can sleep at night, because you helped drive out the Cardassians and set Bajor free. But when the Dominion imposes their order on their part of the galaxy because they used to be oppressed and were traumatised, you sit there on what moral high ground you have and pass judgment on them!"

"I don't need to hear this! Especially not from you! Sisko made you stay away from the station—from us! Now get off this runabout and leave us alone."

"Oh, you do need to hear it, Nerys. But if you insist on me leaving, let me do so on my terms. Don't worry, my little firework, I'll make sure you don't need my help undoing this." And he snaps his fingers and disappears.

And Kira's form begins to melt and she barely has time to call Odo's name before she dissolves into Changeling goo.

Back on DS9, everyone's a bit frantic after seeing the runabout footage, which confirms Odo's story. He links with her and is able to help her reform after a little time, during which we get to hear panicked Kira thoughts and some cool visuals of what the link is like for her. We get a scene after she's able to shift back into herself where Jadzia quips that she's got purple hair and Cardassian neck ridges or something, which is not amusing to her at all.

Then there's a whole discussion on how they're going to fix her before the rest of the Federation finds out, because "Are they going to believe the testimony of one rogue Changeling and the footage from a runabout computer? What if they decide Kira's a threat and take her into custody?"

And the answer is pretty obvious, especially after Julian examines a sample of her matrix and discovers traces of her dna are still in it.

They have to take her to the Great Link so she can be restored to solidity. The Founders are rather good at genetic manipulation, after all. It'll be fine!

Except they're at war, and the Voice does not like Kira, which forms the majority of the conflict, as they have to convince any Dominion forces they meet that "Seriously, we are not here to fight, please don't blow us up, we just want to help our friend, yes we mean it, don't fire!"

And in the end Kira has to pretend to be a Founder just to get the various ships to leave them alone, and it's weird as fuck for her but she makes it to the Great Link and the Voice is there and doesn't believe her at first until they link and she gets proof from her memories.

Which leads to Kira finding out about the morphogenic virus early, and being incensed, because "Look, I don't like you, but that's crossing multiple lines! I'd never have signed off on that if it were up to me, and I know Sisko wouldn't either! Doctor Bashir's brilliant—he can help you, I'm sure of it."

"Even if we did not help you right away?"

"I can wait, if I have to. I'm kind of getting used to this whole thing. It's been—an interesting experience."

And after another link to confirm that yes, she means that and it's not even in a bad way, the Voice consents to help her regain her solid status and she goes into the Great Link, gets a small taste of the Founders' collective trauma and is deeply moved by it, bursting into tears when she emerges, once more humanoid. There's a whole final scene about how she wishes more people in the Federation could have experienced what she did, and then she goes to write a log entry on the whole thing or something.

But this would absolutely change the trajectory of the war because that's how DS9 works, so it wouldn't just be handwaved away. in subsequent episodes, Julian is able to find a cure—possibly with help from within the Dominion itself because the Founders would very much like to not die and Julian is being Julian at them and they're taking a real liking to him.

And the galaxy is saved because Q did a thing! But also Kira understands Odo better after this and their relationship is all the richer for it.

*Starts chanting* It should've been canon, it should've been canon, it should've been canon, IT SHOULD'VE BEEN CANON!

[atopvisenyashill]

Thoughts on the Alysanne is Maegor's daughter AU? I feel like it has some interesting potential, and it vastly recontextualizes different parts of Jaehaehae (I do not like him sjsjsjs) and Alysanne's relationship (such as Jaehaehae's treatment of their daughters) but I wanna hear what you think about it!

I’ve touched on this a bit before but since you actually want to hear my thoughts, allow me to present to you my Jaehaerys Is The Goddamn Worst, And Alysanne Annoys Me Too: An Essay lmao but my answer is basically “yeah all of what you just said.”

I think it makes Alysanne much more palatable (to me) as a character because as she stands, she just fixates on forcing her daughters through these fucked up marriages at too young an age bc it traumatized her to be married and pregnant at 15 too but she’d never admit that being a willing participant in her own kidnapping by her brother-husband was the single worst thing that ever happened to her, and because Alysanne doesn’t want to admit it (and Jaehaerys would never see it as wrong or a mistake) F&B really shies away from delving into the fact that Alysanne is as deranged of a mother as Cersei is. So as she stands, she’s very flat to me because she’s presented very flatly and inconsistently. She’s so in love with Jaehaerys, she’s maritally raped by Jaehaerys, she’s a loving and doting mother, she forces her daughters into marriages when they’re the same too young age she was, she accuses her teenage girls of being scheming whores then gets angry when her husband accuses their teenage girls of being scheming whores, and worst of all we are just told “Maegelle tells them to make up so they do” so we don’t know why Alysanne gets over all of this. What is the point of riding a dragon when you never use that dragon to protect your daughters from unwanted teen marriages? We’re just not given a good enough justification for why her behavior is so weird and frustrating towards her daughters.

Make her Maegor’s daughter though…most of her behavior as an adult makes more sense. Like a worse version of Rhaenyra’s childhood almost - a father desperate for a son, but lowkey obsessed with his daughter, who makes all his hang ups about his parents the problems of every woman around him, except Maegor is out here blood sacrificing and torturing and starting wars and forcing babies on wives he discards quickly and brutally. Then here comes Jaehaerys on a white horse green dragon to save her from the horror her life has become, and he loves her so much he runs away with her even though Alyssa says they shouldn’t marry because people won’t like it. And they have beautiful children, and a beautiful marriage, and build a beautiful kingdom.

Then her pregnancies start getting dangerous. Gaemon, then Valerion, die. Alysanne thinks of the shriveled up mutants she called brothers, if Maegor’s taint has passed to her. Her perfect husband ignores her no, and forces Gael on her. Alysanne remembers that he said nothing to Rogar when Alyssa died, merely wept. Then her daughters start to die. Daella, Alyssa, Viserra, all within a few years. Then Jaehaerys makes Saera watch as he murders her boyfriend, calls her a whore, and says Alysanne cannot follow Saera to Lys. Alysanne thinks of Maegor torturing the Harroways over Alys’ presumed infidelity. Jaehaerys says he’s sorry, and her daughter badgers her into forgiving him, and she remembers how she helped Jaehaerys badger Alyssa into forgiving Rogar. Not two years later, Jaehaerys passes over Rhaenys. Alysanne thinks of how she was never enough for her father, how she felt so superior to Rhaena banished to Dragonstone and resented by Aerea, yet there she is dragging Gael away from court because she can’t stand to be with Jaehaerys. How her father was surrounded by dead women and dead babies and how Jaehaerys is surrounded by his own dead daughters, but surely she did the right thing, surely Maegor was worse, surely the realm is better off? Is he right to pass over Rhaenys? Is she enabling a man just as monstrous as her father? She will never decide, because Maegelle will guilt her about keeping Gael isolated at Dragonstone, and Alysanne will do as she’s told, just like Rhaena, and Alyssa, and Jeyne, Elinor, Ceryse, Alys, and Tyanna, just like every one of her daughters.

I do get why Alysanne is Alyssa & Aenys’ and not Maegor’s. The weird Targ babies, the line not descending from Visenya, Jaehaerys and Alysanne being held up as the perfect Targaryen couple specifically because they are brother and sister and dragon riders. I do even think canon Alysanne is likely traumatized by her time as a hostage on Dragonstone, and the ensuing war, and the trauma bond that caused with Jaehaerys, and it makes her idolize Jaehaerys, and then he isolates her at Dragonstone so he can swiftly and safely marry, groom, and knock her up. It’s not like,,,, a fun time, and it’s enough to make anyone crazy and weird about their daughters, but I think having her father be Maegor makes Alysanne herself much deeper because it gives her, as the most beloved Targaryen queen, a blood tie to the most hated Targaryen king, and a marriage to the most beloved Targaryen king. It fits better with a lot of the themes of the main series (again, imo) - forcing the spotlight on the outsiders to see how the affect the story from behind the scenes. The fall of Aegon’s sons, and The Long Reign, not told from the PoV or to serve the PoV of any of the kings or princes, but of the queen that tied them all together.

[melnathea]

Mega Umbreon

Poisonous fog created from it’s own sweat covers the body of this Pokémon. The more angry it becomes, the brighter its markings glow.

This fakemon design is free to use! Read more below ⬇️

You can freely use this design concept to make ocs, include it in fangames or other projects!

You can link back to here so others can find it too, but else i don’t require credit unless you specifically use the art above!

[puhpandas]

Ruin theory: Gregory is NOT the mimic, and you switch between playing as Cassie and Gregory

in the ruin trailer, there are multiple shots of cassies hands. her hands have bracelets on each wrist, and also more importantly, green nail polish. some of it is missing on certain fingers.

but its important that she has green nail polish specifically on her left hands thumb.

now theres some parts in the ruin trailer that show another hand. a left hand holding a flashlight.

as you can see, this looks exactly like Gregory's hand In security breach, almost like it's the same model, and it's a LEFT hand, important because gregory is shown to be left handed, AND it has no green nail polish on the thumb.

this makes me think we switch between playing as Cassie and Gregory throughout the game, and this would also mean its actually Gregory in the game and not an imposter.

any sort of Gregory imposter would have to be purely digital, since glitchtrap physically cant just make himself look and act like other people. this doesn't mean Gregory cant be a villain, maybe he gets taken over at the end of the dlc by glitchtrap, OR there actually is a digital Gregory imposter that tries to lead you in the wrong direction at the same time the REAL Gregory tries to lead you to the right direction. it would cause Gregory to be suspicious, to Cassie and the player, maybe this causes Cassie to ask Gregory about some things and boom, backstory reveal

anyway, I havent seen anyone talk about this, and i just think the hands are really obvious and important and could mean a lot of things directly contradicting to most ruin theories.

[impishtubist]

Actually I think we should talk more about how Remus not only abandoned Sirius in prison for 12 years but also cost him his freedom in POA.

[messrsbyler]

ted 100% meant will when he said "and no sweetie pie" if you even care

[starpirateee]

hi! i'd love to see a continuation of the isekai spies au or the curt joins chimera au. love your work!! ❤️ 💜 💙

I will gladly give you a continuation of the spies isekai, that was a Lot of fun! Sorry this took such a long time to get out, btw, but in the meantime I was asked this:

So I'm going to cater for both, if that's alright!

The time travel idea stuck fast in Curt's mind. It sounded ridiculous on all fronts, but it was the only Hong that made sense. It seemed like they were in the wrong place, though they didn't seem to stand out any.

The real question was how they'd done it. How they'd managed to go from having it out for each other in the middle of the weapons museum, to being here, where it was apparently fine to be ambiguously flirting with the men at the bar.

For now, the idea of how they'd gotten there wasn't the most important point of the moment. He was drinking with the second man to ever try and pick him up, and all things considered, he was having a pretty good time.

For all intents and purposes, Ted was great. Curt just wished that this wasn't a one time thing— that maybe, he'd have another chance to be himself and to be a little free before he and Owen had to find a way back to where they'd come from.

"Does this not, I dunno, bother you at all?" He asked, leaning against the bar and ordering another round.

"What?"

"This. Seeing someone once, talking like this, and then never seeing em again?" It had never bothered him before, but his dealings were strictly professional and never meant anything.

Ted raised an eyebrow. "You think I'd have asked you out if I didn't think you'd be a one off? You're not the first, man, and I'm pretty sure you won't be the last..."

Curt frowned, his brow creasing as he took a sip of his drink. Ted noticed his expression and shot him an amused glance. "What? That bother you?"

"More than it does you, apparently... It just feels— weird..."

"Oh, you're the type who ain't shy for commitment... You with someone?"

Curt hesitated. In the most literal sense of the word, he was with someone. He'd arrived with Owen, and he was still here. But in that specific sense that Ted was asking about, he wasn't with Owen anymore. Hadn't been for years...

"No, but I was..."

"How long?"

"Five and a half years... Something like that."

"Jeez, not bad..." if he had to guess, he'd have said Ted genuinely looked impressed. He'd leaned forwards a little, and his eyes had went wide. "Special type?"

"Yeah, for ages he was the only one." And it was both dangerous and a comfort to remember Owen as he used to be. All those late nights on the floors of cheap motel rooms, all the uttered words they'd only ever whisper to each other... That was sacred. "But, y'know, those things aren't meant to last."

Ted held his glass out in toast to that. "Hear that, pal. What was his name?"

"Owen."

"Ehh, fuck Owen." Ted had uttered that so confidently that Curt almost choked on the drink he was taking. He laughed, taken completely off guard, and even Ted chuckled. "No, I'm serious! You want commitment outta life, I'm sure you won't have any trouble in finding someone, nice guy like yourself."

"... Thanks," Curt smiled as he felt his face heat up, ready to blame it on the heat of the room. "What about you?"

Ted huffed a breath of laughter. "Yeah, that kinda life's not on the cards for me. Got myself a bit of a reputation, y'know?"

The conversation spanned for a while. Curt really started to let himself go, but kept himself in that balance of opening up and revealing more than necessary, out of a force of habit. Eventually, he and Ted parted ways— Curt was implicitly told that it should feel amazing to walk off a conversation with a guy's personal phone number— and he immediately found Owen again. After all, there was a lot to catch up on. Owen was a familiar face in a sea of strangers, and he'd been the one to propose that they stay by each others' sides.

Needless to say, Owen didn't look impressed when Curt found him. It wasn't like he'd caught any of the conversation, but it had been one hell of one, and that desperation was not a facade that was easy to keep hold of. Trying to act like he was upset about Curt supposedly "standing him up" was way too beyond him.

He had finished Curt's pint too. Frankly, he needed it. And Curt didn't look too offended, so it was no more than terrible American beer under the bridge. The two of them left the bar after, not a word between them until they were a good distance from the premises. Then he turned to look at Curt, half curious and half bitter. "So, how was he?"

Part of him genuinely wanted to know what that kinda of freedom felt like. What it was like to get that close in a room full of people who didn't think twice. The other part of him had seen past all that and just hoped that leaving him hanging for all that time was worth it.

Curt's eyebrows quirked. "Ted? He was great. Real nice guy. Why? That bother you or something?" He shoved his hand in his pocket, feeling the coaster on which Ted had written his number. Quite the unorthodox method, he had to admit, by quite charming all the same.

"Bother me? What do you think I am, twelve years old?"

"Jealous that I could pull before you?"

Yes. Partially. Those words would never leave him, but he thought it nonetheless. "Sod off, my god, you're a child."

Curt smirked. "Anyway, since that's clearly getting to you, I— uh, got what you wanted."

"What, you found out where we are?"

"Yeah. We're on some island in lake Michigan. Hatchetfield." He felt himself absently crease the corner of the coaster, and removed his hand from his pocket quickly.

Owen hummed. "We weren't in the states when we started this, we were in the middle of fucking Europe. How the hell did this happen?"

"That's the part I don't know. Y'see, I think we're gonna have to check the date, too."

"Why's that?"

"Ted called my Bel Air "vintage"."

"Hold on, what?" Owen stopped in his tracks and thought that over. "But you've had that thing from new, and that was only a few years ago..." His eyes went wide. "Oh lord, we have to find a newspaper."

Luckily, that wasn't a hard thing to acquire. Owen dipped into one corner store, and came out with a newspaper folded under his arm. He and Curt opened it together, and his eyes immediately landed on the topmost header.

"Oh my god..."

Judging by that reaction, Curt had seen it too. They exchanged a glance, letting their shock speak for itself, and then glanced back at the paper to make sure they were seeing the same thing.

"Owen, am I reading that right?"

"I think you are, Curt. I.... Think you are." 1962 was no more. Owen had to put his jealousy aside for a moment, because he realised that things were truer than he thought when he said Curt was the only person he had as a cornerstone.

The two of them would have to put their differences aside too, even for a little while, because the truth of the matter was plain. Curt's car was vintage. Men must be allowed to get with other men. Constant economical changes meant it was probably normal for beer to be that price.

The date was June 7th, 2019.

The two of them were stranded in the States, some near sixty years from the time they knew.

[turtlespancake]

me when i write a character who is prone to dooming themself and then they run off and doom themself. core traits are stubbornness and a willingness to disregard their own humanity gET BACK HERE IM NOT DONE WITH YOU

[nocentis]

Black Arum ┆ Siegrain

Content warning: main character death, cannibalism, gore, toxic/unreliable narrator, highly canon divergent character portrayal. Read at your own risk. You will probably take psychic damage from this.

╳┆A lure was stuck in the soot between his lungs. Many times he'd felt the tug — enough that the wire fray had worn a rut where his ribs met — and many times he'd found her on the other end, reeling for remnants of him that no longer existed. She would aim to break him open, sift around in the cinders for those specks of him she wanted to confiscate, keep for herself, so that she could finally be rid of him. Once those flecks were washed and panned, the remains would reek like plough mud closure. For that reason he would come to her whole, every whit of ash accounted for.

A cherry little game they'd play. Her with flint and steel, eager to reignite that paltry spark of "good" that flickered freely for a lapse before he remembered himself. Him with tinder and kindling, letting it light only to call on the rain again. Her with just enough hope. Him with just enough time.

That resolve was so very compelling. More than her beauty, her candor, and even that glow he so loved to bask in — that luster he wanted to hold between his teeth and bury under his nails — more than that, her tenacity was a toothsome temptation, and he wasn't keen to deny himself anything.

So when he felt the pull, he caved to the beck and spooled the lisle. That day, the line seemed lighter, thinner, than it ever had. It should've been strong. Tensile. Instead it felt gossamer fine and just as frail, poised to tear at an ill touch, and he wasn’t exactly renowned for his gentle hands. Still, he gathered it with both palms and wrapped it proudly around himself like a ceremonial sash, grin scrawled across his face something devilish.

╳┆He found her lying in the shade beneath a long-lived magnolia, still and silent as she never was, with the color of her namesake spread around her head in halo streaks. Battle-torn, as she so often was, and yet uncannily... passive.

Anything he'd planned to say went out the airlock. Instead, he stood there with an anchor in his stomach, reaping the benefit of doubt.

Not a frown nor a sigh when he darkened her sanctum, only heavenward eyes tearless and unblinking and a resigned breath just short of peaceful. That worn tether waned phantom thin, light as helium, and the tension in his chest went slack.

There was no definite snap. No dramatic severing or ear-popping moment of clarity. Only the vague sense of loss so fresh a wound that denial was a numbing salve.

“Get up,” his voice a command, sandgrit against whetstone, thickened by an unnamed antigen.

The silence felt like mockery. A placid scene void of chittering fauna, clouds' drum, or even the most timid breeze. It wanted him to hear the absence of her breath and the stillness of her chest. It wanted him to hear the hollow. The empty. The nothing. Wanted it to resonate; to find the furthest reaches of his mind and clean them out until all that was left was this icy, clarifying silence.

He knew the end when he saw it. This was something much worse. It was robbery.

Her life wasn’t for the world to take. It was for him to hold in his hands. 

Something wet and pathetic slicked his tongue — some whiny, pleading thing — and it was stubborn as oil. The authority slid to the back of his throat and left him choking, “You are the indomitable Titania. You’ve laced fingers with Death time and again only to rise and slay and conquer, so get up.”

Her warmth was set to a slow drip, spilling from her in tired beads and seeping soundlessly into her chosen ground. Little whispers of her lost to greedy loam, sullied, never to be returned.

A waste of precious love. The sod won’t drink of her as he will. It will take of her and give back what? New “life” so fragile and fleeting? A feeble weed will take root, bloom its days few, and curl itself inside out? Pathetic. An insult to her legacy. An insult to the diamond-split sharp of her bladesoul.

His heart boiled over — popping, sticking, simmering sicksweet saccharine. It colored him cloying, flooded his mouth, and forced him to kneel at her altar.

"Please," he keened, hollow and morose, and his own pleading sickened him, “Say something.”

The sun trickled through the leaves like ichor, lighting up her black-blown eyes and the thin ring of honey surrounding them. Dim, distant, and dead as the moon.

His hand carved a path to her face, fingers featherlight against her fading flush. He brushed her bangs from her eyes and forced an unbroken breath through his quavering mouth. He traced each scar too faint to see and the parts of her skin their star kissed. Memorized the map of her face — each curve and crease, each fine hair, and every eyelash. He would carve out a space in his mind in her shape and fill it with the thousand sweet nothings he kept in his pockets.

He gathered her hand and threaded it with his own. When he opened his mouth, a rickety twine escaped from the deepest point of his chest, so he forced his jaws shut to keep the grief corked. He uncurled her fingers and pressed his cheek into her palm, trapping her there against his own scarred skin. His eyes fell shut as he breathed in this borrowed touch — this moment fated, stolen from him by this world's insatiable avarice.

He kissed her palm directly in the center; held it against his mouth and felt his own ruined breath echo back to him from the deepest grooves of her skin. Again, he begged, “Please, Erza.”

Of the armors innumerable now haunting this hallowed ground, this one least befit her. 

He revered Death. If there was a god, surely it was Death, he thought, for Death asks for nothing but life. The dead don’t know that they’re dead. They know a split second of euphoria and then a sharp, definite end. Isn’t that the work of a gracious god? One last stroke of color whether in peace or peril, and then eternal rest. Back to the dust you sprouted from.

But now he couldn’t see any of that beauty he often waxed poetic about. All he could see was change yet to come. All he could see was her, and he wanted her back.

He wanted her back, yet he knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as resurrection. While Death might be gracious, it was not generous, and it was not to be reasoned with.

The thought of her buried deep, bathed by the dark and abandoned to rot — it washed his mouth acid sour. It ate straight through his tongue and lingered in the roots of his teeth, burning, raging redhot in his jaws’ marrow.  A grave didn't suit her anymore than a pyre.

Soon she would be cold. Stiff. A feast for flies and their insatiable young. In the days to come, she would bubble and bloat and sallow. Her skin would loosen and slough off. The sun would bleach her bones. The meat of her would melt into oil and fat and bogspit. She would mix in with the soil, the groundwater, and this thankless magnolia would thrive.

It was tall, thick, with branches spread in all directions. The lowest of its limbs showed off the varied deep greens of its large waxy leaves, their undersides a chalky brown. A few white flowers bloomed, palm-shaped petals open in praise like they'd come to witness and worship. There was no question why she'd chosen to crawl here. It must've reminded her of home.

Despite its beauty, it was hardly worthy of her. Nothing in this ravenous world was. Her grave should be carved within his chest. There, he could keep her warm. He could host her in his veins. One day, they would wade the waters of woe together. Until then she could live under his skin.

He wouldn’t allow her to spoil. Wouldn’t place her gently into time’s whittlesome hands only to lose her peel by peel by rotting peel.

This world has taken much from you. Do not allow it to take her too.

A carnal ache etched itself into bone, a depth of passion he hadn't felt since he wrought for a false Heaven.

She is a fruit, ripe as a plum and twice the taste. Peel her open. There is a seed at her core. Plant it in your soot-field chest and watch her bloom anew.

What are these hands for if not this?

Flesh like sheets of silk. Muscle like rope. Blood like honey. Bone like an ivory trove. The splitting, the squelching, the straining, ripping, snapping; it burrowed marrow-deep and lingered there. Her chest peeled apart like jagged teeth, jaws croaking their rusted tune, and inside that redslick maw was the center of the universe.

The heart upon its throne, still as she, shielded by her precious lungs. It slid into his palm like it was always meant to be there. Raw, rich, and so very scarlet. Its sinews strained against his pull — those hollow vines that fed even the furthest parts of her — so he wrenched them free and draped himself in them like matchless finery.

Eat. Eat ‘til you’re sick. There’s a hole the size of her in the pit of your stomach. Eat until you fill it. 

What are these teeth for if not this?

Tough as leather; smooth as rubber. His teeth slid right off the rind and clicked together with nothing but metallic sheen between them. He gnashed at that ink-dripping muscle until he found a spot weak enough to tear apart. It tasted of rare meat and iron; a heady gore thick enough to drown in. He swallowed, gasped, and that first new breath felt like a blade.

The child inside him saw her split-open ribs as his cradle. He wanted to crawl inside, curl up, and die. He wanted to paint himself her color.

He lost his vision to the hot, angry wash. His own sobs were a distant sound, muffled by meat and blood and his own desperate fingers. He was numb in the mouth and in the shake of his hands, but he forced himself to eat, eat despite the choking, the gagging, the wet, weeping remorse.

Don’t you dare throw her up. Be grateful. Swallow and say thank you and finish what you’ve started.

He bit into his own palm, indistinguishable from her core, and he cried out in sour relief. His hands spread raw grief over his face, through his hair, and down his neck.

You’re no better than this starving world.

He curled into himself, hands clutching his own aching chest, and despite the cloudless sky, he called upon the rain.

[cartoontees]

all i'm gonna say about that red vs blue finale for now is i can't believe it fucking erased everything that happened past basically season 13 😐 no offense but why did i watch 6 more seasons after that if that's all that was going to happen. red vs blue, why did you let me get invested in that. frankly they were the worst 6 seasons anyway.

[the-mononoke-facade]

Waaaaaaait if I'm understanding this setup right it might have some major implications for how Kusu moves through the world holy shit

[spiritsong]

don't let the world harden your heart

[spamtoon]

(Out of nowhere, you are approached by a familiar lightbulb-headed Cog.)

Ah, it's you, cat. Thinking you're oh-so-slick. Muttering and whispering under those raggedy whiskers of yours... Thinking I am unable to hear it all...

Well, you've simply underestimated my fantastic hearing. You probably want to know the reason why I'm here, taking a 'break' from my incredibly important scientific breakthroughs? It's quite simple, really!

(She gets close, and squints her eyes.)

I know what you are.

Farewell, now!

(She then leaves the way she came from.)

(Spam giggles immensely, covering her face... it always seems like she's giggling, isn't she? This lasts... at least thirty seconds. Longer than usual.)

And I know what I am too, Sparky! You broke through something, that's for sure. Really, broke through...

(She looks down, continuing to laugh nervously.)

You know, I find it odd you Havent tried to bulb blast me into the stratosphere by now. I mean knowing how you acted with Frostbite. Is there something peculiar about me that you perhaps can't quite track? Something about me that you... don't know what I am?

I know, I know, I'm talking to nobody again. But you were there when I had a moment today with the one the only Frostbite The Bravecog. You may be remaining. Lurking in the shadows. Knowing about these thoughts that I'm thinking.

(The giggling resumes, lasting far shorter this time.)

Your brother's a piece of fucking barp, by the way

(She braces for impact for a few seconds, wincing while smiling, before comically looking around to realize nobody's there. She sighs.)

Wow, okay maybe toony superhero show logic doesn't apply in this situation. Cool.

WAIT I JUST FUCKING REALIZED WHAT SHE MEANT but like. Dude if she meant that then what's the point I mean the whole ahh sellbot department barping knows unless you're Really low on the ladder. Heheh... maybe she did mean what I thought she meant.

Oh i'm so fucking screwed. What kind of bitch gets filament fever

[dykeza]

Finally sat my white ass down and read hs2 (I left off at Sollux being reintroduced for a four years in the making joke) . So like. God I love Homestuck?

[salvidida]

Racism and colourism are systemic, and of course they're rampant in most media, fandoms, merchandising, the whole shebang. So these are far from the only examples of this being a problem, but it's maddening being into jjba, ffvii, and fma and seeing damn near NOTHING for any of the (scant) core dark-skinned characters of colour from these fandoms.

Like, wow, cool fanart of the cast of Stardust Crusaders! Where's Avdol? :))))

Great fanart of the ffvii team! Why's Barret MIA? :))))

Oh cool, look at all of this art featuring the large fma cast (if not massive cast regarding mangahood)! It includes villains even! ... So Scar just doesn't exist or...? Man, not even Miles? Paninya?? Hello????

[lovegrowsart]

there are rly ppl that sincerely defend the treatment of katara's character post-atla like i'm sorry,,,but you will never catch me giving br/yke that much credit and benefit of the doubt lmao