#gratuitous references

[grayrazor]

It'd be in the truest spirit of Lovecraft's style that if you're writing homage fiction, include eldritch beings from other unrelated works of fiction in the lists of blasphemous names.

"She began to speak, calling upon the epithets of the outer gods, harsh sounds not meant for the human tongue. Cthulhu, Nyarlathotep, Yog-Sothoth, Azathoth, Shuma-Gorath, Hastur, Ungoliant, Tzeench, Slannesh, Pah-Wraith, Redjac, Ideon, Qull of the Five Inversions, Mxyzptlk, Dormammu, Lavos, Jenova, Zeromus, Kyuubey, Xeelee, Ghidorah, Ogdru Jahad, Vorlon, Dagoth Ur, Hermaeus Mora, Sheogorath, Abeloth, Waru, Mnngal-Mnngal, Zonama Sekot, Phaaze, Unicron, W'rkncacnter."

[shippingsincebeforeyouwereborn]

OK... so bare with me here...

The Fifteenth Doctor jimmies with time/space just enough to recreate Poppy (who was the creation of the Rani in Wish World to begin with)... and during that process he messes with cause and effect across the timeline and universe enough that 13 drops in to complain (like the neighbor who is friendly but has to work in the morning and the noise is disturbing her)... and he decides to *spoiler her* about a huge emotional part of her TimeLord life...

And then she just leaves - presumably back to the timeline she originated from which might or might not have been irreparably altered in a timey-whimey way let alone in a spoilers kind of way...

so where in her timeline for 13 return to... and how does that change how we read the events which "follow" in her era?

She's wearing her original suspenders so it must be her first or second season, right? So that means she knew about her own feelings for Yaz AND that she would never actually say I love you, for all that season. Does she think it's cast in stone that she won't say it? Does she think she can't say it because it would change the future?

Where is Kathryn Janeway when you have a good time travel paradox headache???

"the future is the past, the past is the future, it all gives me a headache" - Captain Kathryn Janeway, Future's End

[luluxa]

feuer frei!

commission for the wonderful @feral4kaarijasquat ❤️ thank you, it was a pure treat for me!

prints: redbubble

[hmslusitania]

Either 16 or 21 or both or neither

There was no specified ship, so it ended up being kind of pre-relationship TimKon

The party had been a questionable choice, Tim can admit that now. Nothing says “I’m so totally over a relationship, see how fine I’m doing!” like throwing a Halloween party, drinking a little too much at the sight of his ex-girlfriend making out with her new girlfriend who is, for most purposes, Tim’s sister, and then retreating to the bathroom because his more recent ex-boyfriend had actually taken him up on the invitation and brought a plus one.

Which is why he’s hiding in the bathtub in his own bathroom, not totally shielded from view by the novelty map of Faerûn shower curtain Steph had helped him pick out. At least it matches the elf ears that had seemed like a good idea six hours ago, and at least the porcelain he’s resting his face against is cooling and pleasant.

His relative peace — generally not helped by the thumping of the bass from the stereo in the party beyond his room — is interrupted an unknowable amount of time later by the bathroom door opening without a knock, and then he’s in the company of…

“What are you supposed to be?” Tim asks without lifting his head from the side of the tub.

Kon looks down at his “costume” which includes fingerless gloves, a denim jacket, and a black and red buffalo check shirt.

“Breakfast Club?” Kon prompts.

Tim blinks at him.

“Come on, we watched it for YJ movie night like last month,” Kon reminds him.

“I wasn’t there,” Tim says, miserable, and sags a little farther into the comforting embrace of the side of the tub.

“We were gonna do a whole group thing, right, except we decided you’d for sure have to be Ally Sheedy, not Emilio Estevez or Anthony Michael Hall,” Kon continues, unphased by Tim’s demeanour. “But then Cissie wanted to dress up like Wendy instead, and I’m pretty sure Cassie’s dressed up like me, which is kinda a head trip. And Bart had some whole situation where he can’t make our party because he got roped into babysitting Jai and Irey while they go trick-or-treating, because as screwy as my family might be, only when you’re a member of the West-Allen family do you really get to go babysit your, uh…”

“Second cousins,” Tim supplies.

“Huh, I definitely thought that was gonna be a weirder chain of relationship,” Kon says.

He sits on the bathmat next to Tim’s head and pokes him in the side of the face.

“Stop,” Tim says.

“So is there a particular reason you’re hiding from your own party in your bathroom?” Kon asks.

“I’m bitterly single?” Tim replies.

Kon considers him. “So, I get why you invited Steph, because she’s still for sure one of your best friends, and I’m pretty sure you’re, like, contractually obliged to invite Cass to events, and they’re a matched set. But like… your civilian ex-boyfriend who likes to conspiracy theory about the majority of the rest of your guests?”

Tim groans and shuts his eyes, only to have Kon pry one of them open and stare at him up close.

“I wanted to prove I was, like, mature and evolved and so totally over it,” Tim says, and feels stupid even saying it.

“Which is why you’re drunk in your bathtub, sure, yeah, I get that,” Kon says, and smiles when Tim rolls his eyes.

“You don’t have to be in here being nice to me, you can just like… enjoy the party,” Tim says.

“The party where my ex-girlfriend is dressed up in my clothes and making out with our other very good friend who’s dressed up like my all time fictional crush? That party?” Kon asks, and Tim snorts.

“Do you ever think about the fact you dated two girls named Cassandra and both of them turned out to be gay?” Tim asks.

“With really similar taste in women, also,” Kon adds. “And, like, yeah, every once in a while.”

Tim hums and closes his eyes again, but this time, Kon doesn’t pry his eyes open.

“I know you’re mad at me,” Tim mumbles finally. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Kon says, and this time the physical botherment he inflicts is tweaking the elf ear Tim had spent a stupid amount of time gluing on. “I was questioning your judgement, which is so not the same thing.”

“Judgement I definitely didn’t improve by throwing this party, right?” Tim guesses. Kon makes a noncommittal noise.

“Like I get that you have a thing for blonds with a penchant for getting into trouble, but…” Kon says.

“Not just blonds,” Tim mumbles before he can think better of it. He blinks when he realises what he’s said and finds Kon staring at him curiously. “I’m really fine, Kon, you can go enjoy the party.”

“Nah,” Kon says, and before Tim can move to stop him, he clambers over the side of the tub to squish into the narrow space between Tim and the shower wall, his combat boots which have a certain authenticity that say they might have been Pa Kent’s from the ’60s clunking against the basin. Kon wriggles his shoulders trying to get comfortable for a second, and then gives up and wraps his arm around Tim. It’s just for the better use of space, Tim’s sure, but it’s… it’s really nice. And when Kon tugs him sideways until Tim rolls over so he’s resting the side of his face on Kon’s chest rather than on the side of the tub, it’s so damn pleasant he can barely stand it. “I’d much, much rather be in here with you.”

It makes Tim’s heart flutter in his chest and he knows Kon can hear that, which is just embarrassing, and which he can only sort of blame on the alcohol.

“Yeah, okay, Bender,” he says, trying desperately to hit annoyed.

Kon gives him a full belly laugh that echoes off the bathroom tile, and squeezes him just a little closer. “I knew you’d seen the Breakfast Club before.”

Tim rolls his eyes and smacks Kon in the stomach with a light, open palm. It gets him another laugh, and maybe, just maybe, this party hadn’t been the worst idea after all.

[pineapplefulfillseveryneed]

Sparks - When Do I Get To Sing My Way

[darsynia]

Kiss Fic Round-Up Part 1

Happy Friday folks! I wanted to link the stories from my kiss asks so far, which has turned into a March project! Thanks to everyone who has requested one and haven't seen theirs yet--there's more to come!

CROWNED - Sam/fem!Reader (fluff) | 627 Sam loves to leave you notes around the apartment you share, but you haven't found one in 3 days--what's up his sleeve?

CRYPTOLOGY - Steve/fem!Reader (mutual pining) 680 After the Avengers Compound is attacked, Steve is relieved to find you safe and unharmed on the roof.

CERTAINTY - Stephen Strange/fem!Reader (angst) | 501 Stephen's first thought after defeating Dormammu is your rescue.

BEFORE I LOVED YOU - Steve/Princess!Reader (Royalty AU) | 1,600 Your families believe you hate each other--but it's all a ruse. You and Steve have planned this for months, all to restore justice and honor to his corrupt kingdom.

ARRANGED - Tony/fem!Reader (Historical AU) | 1,500 When your brother Bruce decides it's time for you to marry, the close family friend you've crushed on for years 'jokes' that he can help.

THE TROUBLE WITH... - Steve/Avenger!Reader (fluff) | 2200 Your ginger cat Kirk reminds you that sometimes it's okay to be overwhelmed--and plays accidental matchmaker in the process.

Bonus: PARCHMENT - Steve/fem!Reader (hoe thoughts) | 2700 Your arm injury is self-cockblocking you, and daydreaming about the SHIELD agent you've been long-distance texting with isn't enough.

[serve-cunt]

special topics in calamity physics

by serve_cunt Marc Marquez/Valentino Rossi, 8k, rated explicit! Academia!AU

"You are too busy to find somebody to fuck?" Vale asks, with a smirk. "I don't remember that being a problem when I was in grad school." "That was a long time ago," Marc shoots back, and Vale laughs off the sting. "True," he says. "Times are different. Now, for example, it seems that graduate students only have time to fuck their professors."

lost my ever loving mind and wrote myself a little angsty academia age-gap romance ... as a treat

read it here on ao3!

[lemurious]

[sic semper]

how many words will it take to keep a republic?

[this one's for camille.]

[the old roman republic fixation blending into the new one of the french revolution. now on ao3 as well.]

“He should’ve stopped right then. Thus, always, to tyrants. That’s enough to make one’s name ring for eighteen hundred years and then some.”

Ever since they had struggled through their first sentences of Cicero together, they have turned it into a kind of a hideout, a refuge. The last bright spark of the Republic, all the sweeter for its brevity, all the more terrible for the inescapable light.

They are fighting not to turn their own land into a desolation and would not stoop to the hypocrisy of calling it peace, and quirites have been renamed citoyens, and the old blood on the cobblestones is the same as under the statue of Pompey, and so many hands are eager to proffer a knife that there is a brief illusion that the guilt might be shared as well.

Camille has not moved to light the candles, and the sky has blinked violet for a mere moment, so fast that one could’ve missed it if one weren’t paying attention, and settled into a comfortable dusk.

He rubs his eyes, straightens himself, sways minutely in the slight derangement brought by exhaustion.

It is a respite, to think about what choices he would’ve made, had he the death of only one Caesar to reckon with, to imagine himself in the interminable tableaus of artists who felt that only they could give an accurate rendition to the scene. At the head of the liberators - no, that’s the place in which he can only imagine Maxime, however reluctant.

Camille stops dead, halfway through another speech in his head, he can almost hear his own voice shaking, his finger pointing in accusation at the corpse of Caesar and letting the anger of the crowd carry him through the Forum.

He wouldn’t have made the deal with Octavian though, nor scuttled off to Egypt. He would’ve stayed in Paris – in Rome, that is, of course. In his city. His city, claimed and signed and sealed in word after word and pamphlet after pamphlet, and declarations and constitutions and decrees beyond count, and it still might not be enough.

“He didn’t have to call Cicero’s name," Maxime goes on. "I wouldn’t consider Brutus a coward…”

Camille wonders if Brutus – not if, how frequently Brutus had tried to reason with his conscience, how many times Cassius had strengthened him, by words or arms.

They seem to have acquired their own Cassius, not too long ago, another moth to the flame of revolution, except this one – this one is worth watching, and the entire Convention watches. This one seems to be bound for a glorious death, if one could be contrived.  

It might not take much, these days. Marat has recently managed without even trying.

“What’s wrong with Cicero?” Camille pushes his thoughts out of his head, imagines them flying through the open window and into the summer heat that is settling into the city for the night.

“He was like one of these overtrained dogs, always ready to attack the next enemy. I do not discount the elegance of his language, or the precision of his philosophy – “

“You are trying to discount the man. But we still memorize his speeches. Now -give me a speech from Brutus, one to make you want to follow his lead! See – you can’t. I know you can’t. All you have from Brutus is a sword. Cicero took that sword and adorned it with virtue, having an excess of it in his possession due to having left all vice to Antony, now, of course, I do object to it, on occasion being partial to Mark Antony myself, but wouldn’t you call it a force of its own, this ability that only words have, to turn a death into a martyrdom and a murder into an execution?”

Camille positively runs out of breath by the end of the sentence.

“Caesar wouldn’t have been killed by a pamphlet.” Maxime is curt, but there is a softness to his look.

“Just you wait.”

“You – well, you I could trust – to prove me wrong.”

“I tell you again – only consuls can be killed in the Curia Hostilia, while tyrants have to die in words, over and over, until they teach us how to treat the tyrants of our age – wait, I need to put this down –“

“You should be writing plays.”

“You should be carrying a knife, just in case a suitable Caesar passes by. Stop insulting me. We’re living a tale, we have to be able to tell it too – not that I, of course, am going to give all that many more speeches, I suppose –“

“You will, when the need arises.”

“I wish I had your certainty.”

“My certainty begs to differ. You do not wish for anything of the sort. And I am hardly ready to start stabbing kings, or anyone else for that matter. We have our laws.”

“I know you. At some point, you will be called to a Curia and you will make a choice, against an entire row of Caesars, lined up, unsuspecting, in front of you. And then, well, then, another republic will be saved again, I suppose, and then –“

“And then?”

There is a tinge of dust, in the light breeze rising. A taste of desert.

“And then, Philippi.”

“Such a morbid future.”

“There’s nothing morbid about immortality, at least not for you, at least not this kind, it’s the only kind that is worth pursuing anyway, there’s a kind of truth to it that is harder to stain, and, speaking of which, time for me to go, this needs to be printed by tomorrow, they’re already cursing me in the press for keeping them awake.”

“Camille.”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember how we used to talk of them, as if we ran in their circles, as if we had to step aside to let their litters pass us by? Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, everyone? Do you think – they felt they had no other choice?”

The only answer is a cliché, and it sticks to Camille’s teeth like molasses.

Still, he supposes, it must be comforting. For a moment he is so exhausted that he feels that he will never find anything comforting, and then he looks at the desk, at the pen dripping ink because Maxime is holding it at a strange angle, and tells himself to stop being so fanciful.

It is easier to speak in clichés, in the dark. Sometimes, Camille wishes he could be turned off together with the lamps and blink right back into shape the following night.

He wonders what kind of a ghost he would make. And if Maxime would even want to stick around the living.

“One always has a choice.”

“Camille.”

“Yes, again?”

“…it's too hot, my words are trying to slip away from me – for all that I despise Cicero, that was something he was good for. Finding them.”

“You can just say something trite about surviving, taking care of myself, maybe even thinking, for once, of how my own words will be read before putting them down.”

“Is that what you expect of me?”

“No.”

Camille turns, steps closer, reaches out, velvet and lace and skin under his hands. Sometimes, even he chooses to be silent. So will Maxime, but not just yet.  

“Here’s your Cicero, then. Vince et vale.”

[wellnoe]

its been so long since i listened to friends at the table...did you know? its a fun show

[sunnifer]

sighs dreamily. i love when they're faggy

[goemon-fan]

This was easily one of the best Lupin episodes

[inexplicably-spookified]

starting a new comic series maybe

[delta-pavonis]

Fic: no more yielding than a dream

Dreamling (Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling) || Explicit || 5k words || complete Midsummer Night's Dream references, Hob circa 1595, what if Will Shaxberd wrote Nick Bottom as an insulting reference to Hob, and then Dream sees the play, canon-typical mention of death during childbirth, Getting Together, First Time, Rimming, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Anal Fingering, poetry during sex, Dream can be a little eldritch, as a treat, they are idiots for each other

It is a fascinating moment for Dream, to realize that within this play he has commissioned is a mockery of his…  Hob had called him friend at the start of their last meeting. Even if Dream would not himself call that term first to hand in reference to Hob, he has no better option. Acquaintance certainly covers what Hob knows of Dream, but what of what Dream knows of Hob?

For @augbesian

Read on AO3

[trinbluephoenix]

Slowly realizing that I have not actually explained the Sonic Overclocked AU.

[kannedia]

Behold! Excalibur!

Relic weapon complete. Excalibur has been obtained. [Or at least a copy of it has.]

[kindlingkeen]

I’ve always hoped that ‘A Good Solider’ was fanon and not canon.

Good ol’ DC, you reliably disappoint me once again. 🤮

Source: Detective Comics #618