#definitely not out of obligation

[buwheal]

Why does the orange Addison's mannequin kinda resemble you?

[maniacwatchestheworld]

DPxDC requested prompt (#7)

(@bearerofendlesspain You know... Only after writing this whole thing do I realize that I had read this prompt wrong... WHOOPS! I read it as "Poison Ivy and Tucker are eating blood blossoms to extinction." and not as what was likely intended which seems to have been more along the lines of... "Batman rogue: Poison Ivy. Conflict: Tucker is eating blood blossoms to extinction." ... Which in this particular context are way, WAAAAAY different ideas! I could have saved myself a lot of distress if I had read it correctly... >.> But ah well! Whoops! Hope you enjoy this anyway! Thinking about a plant going extinct like this was quite distressing for me to write! :D)

"Hey. Thanks for helping me out with this, Tuck. And you know... For keeping all of this a secret from Sam." Danny smiled in appreciation to Tucker as they began to break ground with their shovels. "She would probably HATE what we're doing right now!"

"Yeah, of course, dude! It's no problem at all. The more we get rid of these blood blossoms here in Amity Park, the better it is for you and all of the ghosts in the area! Besides, I never want to even think about having to eat another one of these things ever again!" Tucker shivered at the memory of having to eat blood blossoms to save Danny and Sam's lives.

With that, the two got to work killing the bush of blood blossoms. They were digging to expose the roots so they could tear the plant from the ground whole. That made things easier when they would shove the entirety of the plant into a plastic garbage bag along with the other blood blossom bushes they had already uprooted. Once they were done with this area, they would take all of the bushes they had uprooted over the course of the day and bring them to an incinerator where they would destroy the plant- burning the flowers, stems, roots, and seeds all in one fell swoop. They had to make certain to destroy the whole plant, including the roots and seeds, just to make sure that there was no chance of the bush growing back from just its roots or more bushes getting planted in their place. They had been making good progress in wiping out the blood blossoms in this area. They just had a few more to uproot here and they could move on to the next area! They had been at this for months and were getting pretty close to their goal of exterminating blood blossoms in the whole of Amity Park!

But just as they were pulling this bush from the ground, a beautiful red-haired woman started charging towards them. "What do you think you're doing!???" she roared. The woman was clearly frantic.

Danny and Tucker glanced to one another. "Removing a bush...?" Danny answered, not certain what was going on.

"'Removing a bush' ... Alright, kids, stop what you're going and step away from that 'bush' right now!" She demanded. And while Danny complied, letting go of the plant and backing away, Tucker didn't and instead began to haul the shrub from the ground.

"Come on, lady. We're just removing some weeds. This isn't anything to freak out over." Tucker turned to roll his eyes at the woman where Danny could see but she couldn't.

"A 'weed'? A 'WEED'!!? You really don't have any idea what you're doing do you!? Do you even know what these 'weeds' are!?" The woman was obviously distressed, and growing more agitated by the moment.

Tucker let out a flippant breath. "They're blood blossoms, duh."

"Yes. And this specific species of blood blossoms are native and endemic to the Amity Park area!"

"Okay...? So what?" Tucker wasn't entirely certain what she was talking about.

"And they're an endangered species!"

"Oh... I- I didn't know!" Danny swore, suddenly feeling bad about what he and Tucker had been doing.

"So?" Meanwhile, Tucker had the opposite reaction. "What are you, a botanist or something? Who cares if these blood blossoms go extinct?"

"Yes. I am a botanist..." Danny was watching as the horror on the woman's face was slowly turning into fury.

"Tucker...? I think that you should just leave the plant alone..." Danny cautiously advised.

"What!? After all the work we've put into killing off all of these stupid flowers? Now you're starting to sound like Sam! We've been at this months! No way I'm stopping now!"

"MONTHS!???" That was the absolute last straw. These children have been exterminating these poor, defenseless, endangered plants for months!? Dr. Pamela Isley- more famously known as Poison Ivy- had heard enough. These boys were going to pay. "You might not care about these flowers dying, but I do! The land- The Green does! You need biodiversity in order to have a healthy ecosystem, and these flowers play an important role in that! You can't just go around, carelessly digging up and killing innocent, endangered plants without there being... Consequences."

[someobscurereference]

ive been rereading your ffxv fic "im trying hard to take it back" for literally four years now. please end my suffering and tell me how gladio feels. please. PLEASE. (but only if u want ofc)

(fic) Short answer: Gladio feels insane guilt and spends a lot of his life trying to make this up to Prompto. In the process, they deepen their connection as friends and do begin a relationship probably around the one-year mark of endless darkness. <3

Longer answer: (implications of abuse/violence tw but no worse than in the fic itself; just what others assume to be true even if it's not in the context of this specific fic)

Gladio is a secret romantic at heart who has always envisioned meeting his soulmate, but he's also duty-bound and duty comes first. So even though he reads romance books (amongst other types of books too) and indulges in his head a bit as many people do, he's often put his duty to the crown first and foremost in his mind. He also didn't imagine his soulmate was anyone on this trip and thought perhaps the person he may have been fated to meet died in the assault of Insomnia. Even if they were a refugee, they can't be a priority to him at this moment. His priority has to be Noctis.

Prompto has obviously grown on him over the course of their road trip, but there are aspects of them that don't 100% mesh (as is true with every realistic relationship). That said, Gladio never in a hundred years would want this moment of (understandable but out of line) frustration and anger in the wake of Luna and Altissa to be a permanent mark on Prompto's face. He's genuinely horrified and disgusted with himself for a long time after this and spends most of his life trying to make it up. He feels like a dirtbag about it.

That said, Prompto runs away from him in this moment and they need time to calm down, just as the fic shows. Noctis goes after Prompto, just like in canon. Prompto falls off the train and has his Despair Arc just like in the DLC, now with the added despair of "well, in addition to being a clone, my soulmate hates me. And in addition to the mark of inhumanity on my wrist (barcode), I have a giant hand print of him literally Shoving Me Away on my face. Forever."

Aranea: Well, do you want to die about it. Or do you want to live.

Prompto, eventually like in canon: Live, I guess. But it will be excruciating.

Aranea: That's what living is. We do it anyway. Your friends love you. Get off the floor.

He fights his way through his issues and gets rescued like in canon. Gladio probably tries to talk to him when they all catch up again, trying to apologize, and Prompto tells him to hold off on that for later.

Then, of course, Noctis is eaten by the crystal and "later" becomes much, much later as they evacuate and try to survive in eternal darkness. (Though they also can't Not think about it because it's a giant hand print. On Prompto's face. And every person they meet has Something To Say about it, for better or worse, whether they knew Prompto before or not. Prompto cannot escape it, and when Gladio is not doing Crown Duties he feels he must do in Noct's absence, he's with Prompto, so he also Cannot Escape It either. Even when the person speaking is unaware that Gladio left that mark. It's almost worse when they don't know, but when they see it's Gladio, who is such a big guy who seemingly hit Prompto and left that permanent mark there, some of them get nasty to him and some back off out of fear. Both are horrible. The guilt is eating him alive.)

Eventually, enough time passes as the dust settles that they do Talk About It. Gladio apologizes sincerely, for the 500th time. Prompto's like, "Well. It's not like you could have known that this would be The One Time it happened." And then cracks a joke about their soulmate mark being a Prompto's hand print on Gladio's ass from a butt slap in another life, which does help the tension somewhat. (The more Gladio tries to apologize, the more Prompto grows sick of hearing it, so they just have to move on and keep going, as he's learned to do.)

They grow closer over time, especially because there's not a lot of people who have survived to this point and even less later on. They do get together romantically, both because they do like the idea of soulmates (for different reasons) and also because they're living out of each others pockets for years, so there's an affection and dependency that develops there. Also, teenage Prompto always thought Gladio was really handsome and teen Gladio thought Prompto was cute and sincere for a pipsqueak.

When they are out together on dates in normal settings surrounded by strangers after the light returns, Gladio will receive dirty looks for the rest of his life from strangers who see the hand print on Prompto's face and immediately (correctly) assumes it was out of anger rather than a funny accident or something. (Edit: Some people will assume there is a funny story attached. Gladio will not know what to say to this. Prompto will play along.) He will learn to live with this. Prompto is really grateful Gladio is with him despite everything.

[femmedaraya]

FIVE days until Rosemary Zine!! ooooo here’s another preview oooooooo

Download the zine HERE on 10/31!!

[nauticrowe]

"I like her. She looks like she could throw me over her shoulder and carry me to safety... Should the need arise..."

[k7tt1]

Sometimes I sit down to think about the true ramifications of how / what the Fizz Bots are to Fizzarolli,

Imagine robotic clones ( sexual, at that ) being made of you and they are not only modeled after you in physical appearance, but have a likeness to your personality, mannerisms and general demeanor. Imagine they say the things you would, possibly act in the same way you would.

What's worse, is that they're made in your likeness in real time; their production / manufacturing ages along with you,

Imagine you SEE these things being assaulted, used & abused in public; these clones take it all with a smile. Soulless, mindless... But as if that's not enough, then realizing that they may just have sentience. Or at least, they give off the impression they do. And on top of ALL that... they have chunks of your memories, your past; they're you, but at the same time, they aren't,

What do you do with that information? How do you treat them ( yourself? )? What's the end game?

[smartwatermagic]

hecate watches poseidon and athena argue over their kids dating her son and adds fuel to fire sometimes because she knows they probably won't actually hurt alabaster

They won't hurt Al. Probably. Hopefully. Not unless they want to breach their oath that is. (Which, Poseidon showed that he has no problem doing, considering Percy’s existence though)

Al is untouchable provided that he doesn't break his exile and Hecate doesn't turn against Olympus again. So excuse her if she wants to have some fun and get some payback by scaring Athena and Poseidon. "What if her son kills their children or convinces them to not be loyal to Olympus, hmm?" she's giggling

Al will be fine. Mostly. She has trust in her son's magic protections. She will stop if they go after him.

[chiropterx]

If Man-Bat likes you, prepare to have your personal space disrespected! Vampire bats are very social, often snuggling up close to other members of their kind and even initiating grooming as part of social bonding. Man-Bat might rest his head on your shoulders, lean against you, even go as far as licking your hair if it looks very messy and out of place. It can be quite uncomfortable, especially in summer given his high body temperature.

[pretendygood]

How dare the universe give me things to do when I have a s3 announcement to celebrate

[sisterdivinium]

As the owner of the post where the WN commentfic fest is taking place, I get notified of every single new addition (which can also apply to you if you have a DW account and track the post, btw!), be that a prompt, a fill or a comment -- and let me tell you just how giddy I get to see participants posting an idea, a story, or even just cheering others on <3

[formulafics]

[good-to-drive]

whyyyyy do the beatles have so many solo stans this site is so weird

[bredforloyalty]

i wonder if it can be managed that i no longer live in that city but i do a research project during the fall semester

[pochapal]

blowing a kiss to my mutuals who i have been sorely neglecting. on account of the Horrors.

[dirtbra1n]

there’s a word for it. a name. for the people who take care of corpses before a funeral. hanzawa masato doesn’t remember it right now, though, because right now he’s up in the midnight hours, lying flat on the couch in the living room. too warm. he doesn’t care to remember it, the name.

it’s way, way too warm.

dying used to be simpler than this. there was no pavement, there were no buildings, there were no faceless people.

cold, though. there was cold.

the water wasn’t really flowing, too shallow, he was slowing it down, but his blood was. staining the ice.

it was gross.

he couldn’t stretch out his legs, couldn’t reach his arms out over his head. his fingers were cold and useless and deadened, and slow. the air he was struggling to breathe was pushing in and flowing out of his lungs through the puncture wound in his chest. so slow.

he’s been there before. he’s here now.

sitting stiff in the water, soaked to the bone, dying in isolation. bleeding out, masato thinks he’s alive. suffocating, he’s convinced he won’t be for much longer.

he’s not sure he’s anywhere.

dying used to be so easy.

instead of waiting until he couldn’t stand to look at himself anymore, kneeling until his head went under and waiting it out, probably getting swept away by the current until he crashed downstream—he wouldn’t know, he never lived to see that part—instead of that—

he’s wading around a little lost. he’s bleeding. the ghosts only look at him when they know it’ll sting worst, long shadows cast over the water, malformed specters dancing in mockery of him. he thinks his feet are getting a little worse than sliced up by jagged hateful rocks out of sight. that’s depressingly the least of his worries. it’s being impaled by the moon in a loop of time that fucking hates him. but he’s already bleeding. he’s a little surprised that he’s still got blood to bleed.

instead of releasing what could have become a burden, it’s him standing, helplessly, in the river, night after night after night. because it’s nighttime now. it keeps being nighttime.

it’s the kind of thing you’d almost expect to be a relief.

“hanzawa senpai.”

masato turns his head, creaky like a wooden doll. “…tashiro-kun.”

kimono-clad, he offers a hand. “you’re not face first in muck this time.”

masato doesn’t take it. a sharp smile curves his cheeks, not insincere. “thank you. ‘this time?”

tashiro smiles sheepishly down at him. squints. “did you die?”

“do I look dead?”

it’s hard to see from the water, but masato knows that tashiro’s shifted his eyes. saw it in the back of his mind, recorded on crackly film. he says, instead of answering, “I’ve got bandages.”

masato wishes he had something to rest his elbows on, to brace himself on. it doesn’t feel right playing his games standing upright, his hands in his sleeves instead of holding his head on his shoulders. “ta-shi-ro-kuuun, what do you think I need those for?” masato knows what.

tashiro replies anyway, drily from up on uneven paving, “hanzawa senpai, you’re bleeding. you need blood. to survive.”

“tashiro-kun, did I die?”

things are splintering a little. crackly film.

a web of cracks splitting tashiro’s composure, his voice shaking, “why did you?”

that wasn’t what masato asked.

—

“hanzawa senpai.”

“…”

“senpai.”

“…tashiro-kun.”

“you’re not face first in muck this time.”

the smile’s carving itself in, muscle memory. masato’s not going to ask what he meant by this time. “thank you.”

“did you die?”

“do I look dead?”

in the old school projector film behind his eyelids, the flickering doesn’t feel out of place. “I’ve got bandages.”

“ta-shi-ro-kuuun, what do you think I need those for?” masato’s always known what.

“hanzawa senpai, you’re bleeding. you need blood. to survive.”

“tashiro-kun, did I die?”

the shadows cast by a lantern hidden just behind tashiro make his shoulders look broad. masato swallows down a laugh, but he’s not sure what’s funny. “don’t be shallow, senpai, looks aren’t everything.”

the laugh comes out anyway. he manages, “I feel dead, forget the looks.”

“I can’t. I won’t.”

masato takes his turn to squint. they weren’t taking turns. it doesn’t matter. he doesn’t know if he still feels like laughing. he knows for sure that he can’t think of anything to say.

it’s just as well. tashiro isn’t having the same problem. “I think you should just, I don’t know. care about yourself more.”

masato swallows. his lips press into a chagrined line. “I don’t not care,” he says.

tashiro looks right through him. his eyes are like headlights.

he doesn’t actually need to say it, and masato can tell that he almost doesn’t, but maybe tashiro thought he needed to hear it out loud, feel it taking up space. maybe he was right.

“your caring sucks, senpai. it killed you.”

masato doesn’t want to follow that thread. “how many times have you been here, tashiro-kun?”

tashiro doesn’t buy into it. his demeanor is at once solemn and jarringly pleading, “senpai, won’t you live for once?”

masato means to say it like a joke, because it is one, but by accident the words, “how could I begin to deny you,” are dropping off his tongue, he doesn’t even know why, he doesn’t know why he said that, and no amount of exaggerated irreverence can hide from tashiro—eyes like cleavers, more like—the characters slipping into the water.

the ripples aren’t all that big, but they’re big enough.

like when your head aches, or the gash in your chest is losing you too much blood, or the water is tugging itself a little too close to that gash to be comfortable. something like that. something like that. it’s enough.

he doesn’t think he’s making any sense. it’s just too warm.

“maa-kun,” his older brother’s crooning, pushing his damp bangs off his forehead with cold fingers, “I think you’re sick.”

masato blinks away what he hopes is sweat. “gross.”

“not gross, worrying. sit up please.”

“I’ll throw up.”

“you won’t.”

“you’re right, I won’t.”

he’s getting fussed over in the middle of the night, on the couch that he’s sweating all over, and he’s watching a fan across the room spin and it’s nauseating and he stops looking at it. he’s getting fussed over in the middle of the night, by his older brother, because his mom’s out of town visiting her sister. he’s getting fussed over in the middle of the night, feeling a little out of his body. feeling a little—not at all—a lot like a little kid again. feeling sick, and pathetic.

he goes into the bathroom, wobbly and upset and over-warm, and he throws up.

—

reality’s tearing itself up, his dreams are eating it up, he’s falling apart and melting at the seams, he sits in almost-too-cold water until he thinks he’s gonna throw up again.

put him on ice, already, the sooner the funeral the sooner he can get some fucking rest.

his older brother’s sitting against the door frame, slipping in and out of consciousness. he murmurs, reaching forward to pet his hair, “‘s it too cold?”

masato doesn’t think it’s sweat. “it’s okay.”

—

it wouldn’t have been a very good joke, even if it’d come out right.

masato thinks he just choked around, “I want to. I want to.”

[kurokoros]

I've realized I need to stop comparing myself to my sister in terms of how put together our lives are. like, she graduated from college last month and got a job right out of school... at the company our dad has been working at for the last ~15 years. and now she and her boyfriend are buying a house together... and it's our childhood home that our dad is selling because he's moving into a farmhouse he renovated with his new wife.