An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
*shows up to Anderperry April almost two months late* anywhere hereâs the rest of the DPS reacting to Anderperry for day 10 đđ
will byers stan first human second
d e v o n
I'd rather be in outer space đž

â
Xuebing Du

Love Begins

romaâ
sheepfilms
Three Goblin Art
Game of Thrones Daily

ç„æ„ / Permanent Vacation
AnasAbdin
noise dept.
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
No title available
trying on a metaphor
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

Product Placement
occasionally subtle

⣠Chile in a Photography âŁ

seen from Canada

seen from Malaysia
seen from Netherlands

seen from United States

seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from United States

seen from TĂŒrkiye
seen from Netherlands
seen from Canada

seen from Netherlands
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Belarus
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from India

seen from Spain
seen from United States
@highfivingoscarwilde
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
*shows up to Anderperry April almost two months late* anywhere hereâs the rest of the DPS reacting to Anderperry for day 10 đđ
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
50 moments lost in time, occasionally remembered (mostly by Todd, but perhaps more accurately by Welton itself)
ff.net
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"YĆ«ri had imagined that, the first time he would decide he didnât want to break away and calm his heartbeat during one of these intimate, sensual sessions of touching, it would come to him as a sudden, striking realizationâa brush of Victorâs engagement ring against his heart or a quick whiff of his and Victorâs sheets that he would somewhat astonishedly realize smelled just like home. But, it isnât like that. YĆ«ri still isnât used to St. Petersburg weatherâno matter how much Mila teases him for âlook[ing] like [he] stole every coat, sweater, and scarf out of Victorâs closetâ when theyâre all out togetherâ, and some days, he still wakes up expecting the scent of his bedroom in Hasetsu. The reasoning behind his comfort seems obscure and inexpressible as he runs his palms (one arm squashed under Victorâs side) up and down the exposed planes of Victorâs back, presses their hips ever closer together, breathes hotly into the dampness of Victorâs mouth."
ff.net
No Bad Vibes
      Lunelâs head emerges from the pool encased in glowing water embellished with city lights, creating a momentary fisheye distortion so that she appears more divine and distant from reality than she already is. Her makeup, more than flawless, seems like it was applied with this specific situation in mind: for the water, the lighting, the alternating flashes of neon signs, the combined effect of the lights in the pool and the lights outside shining through the window. Water drips from her eyelashes, framing her celestially blue eyes darkened with emotion as she stares up at Sam, slowly and deliberately blinking, the Swarovski crystals adorning her bikini reflecting the bright overhead lights. âSamantha,â Lunel says, her voice dripping the same expensive falsities as her hair, âhow wonderful you could join me, really! Come swim with me. If it slipped my mind to tell you to bring a swimsuit, you can just skinny dip; we can get you something nice tomorrow.â She backstrokes until sheâs pressed against the glass, and she sighs as she looks out over the city. âAlthoughâŠskinny dipping in front of the glass does seem just the right amount of thrilling. I might just get Danica to come and fetch my swimsuit.â Sam has already stripped herself of her clothes and entered the pool by the time Lunel has finished talking, and Lunel casts a judgemental eye towards the clothes heaped by the pool. She doesnât say anything, though, solidifying Samâs suspicion that she brought her here for something specific.
Aubade; or, a Lingerie Brand That Almost Sells my Bra Size
The joys of this messiness; Oh, the golden pool of light, Spiked flights of white cutting the black. Or perhaps dripping down the near-tan Of the new dayâthe dip in the valley. Where it dries At the sides, requiring the wash Of rain.
She pulls the soft, sun-warmed mounds From their places stuck to her arms. Stretches, And they stick again. And what a lovely stretch It is. The cat that caught the canary Leaping through the dovesâ trees and Glad to be on her own, without the yawn of That tom.
She rises to follow the westward arch Of the sun, a futile, thrilling pursuit. The cool, flat press Of wooden flooring morphing Into the texture of tile against her dew-soft Feet. The pause in prance at the mirror, those Crushed capillary marks imprinted into the near-tan of the New day.
She Cannot Sing Revolution (I Scream Revolt)
inspired by Ada LimĂłn
Hot knife through a horse heart, that sizzling slide through muscle-flesh. How dare itâ
how dare it convert the force propelling the beast capable of carrying carriers of whips
into the sorry liquid of cowsâ stolen butter with spongy heartstrings shredded beyond sense, never again supporting the sanguine surge of survival?
I felt the sinew snap the second she stopped breathing; I felt the murder in my chest. So swift. So sharp. So searing. So
skillets seizing kindred skins. So distance was the only thing stopping me from slaying
the butcher with his own smoking scythe. I would have held it under the heat for twelve hundred years
(the time it will take for horses to undomesticate after I burn down every slaughterhouse and farm fence);
I would have strung him up vertical supine, sliced him down the center as he screamed, listened to that slick blood sizzle under the touch of his own
hot knife. I would have severed him twelve times. Once for each time a horseâs heart is bigger than mine.
Ode to the Busted Laundry Pod on the Pavement, Seeping in its Juices
Youâre        electric, fluorescent purple, the most unnatural thing Iâve ever seen in my life. I have to stop to witness the sidewalk scene of your flip flop murder and the alluring, arched splatter pattern of your liquid. Itâs like        laced indigo powder is being crushed directly into the lining of my eager, open throat. I want more than to devour you; I want to suck you up into my body, go tumbling in cycles, make myself ascended in that        hypersexual crushed grape feel, fingers stale and stinging, dripping clean poison. I want to stain like you stain, find salvation in your sacrilege, your        telemagenta that transcends space time and spits electricity in the faces of our violets, our amethysts, our lilacs. Youâre a        psychedelic phlox alien blood show and the ridges of concrete peek up like starlight to abduct me out of my color protected clothes as the seer of         Byzantium, the newest shattered neon tube, and I, as gas, return to the atmosphere. The sun evaporates         our color and leaves behind only an Ocean Mist trace.
Magnus Hirschfeldâs Obituaries
âOnly ignorance or bigotry can condemn those who feel differently. Donât despair! As a homosexual, you can still make valuable contributions to humanity.â â Magnus Hirschfeld, Anders al die Andern, 1919
I.
MAGNUS HIRSCHFELD IS DEAD; 1920 AND âTHE WELL-KNOWN EXPERT ON SEXUAL SCIENCEâ IS DEAD. MAGNUS HIRSCHFELD IS NOT DEAD. 1920 AND IT IS SUCH A SHAME THAT âTHIS SHAMELESS AND HORRIBLE POISONER OF OUR PEOPLEâ HAS NOT COME TO HIS âWELL-DESERVED END.â
We, the dust between the brick, watch as Nazis try to stomp Magnus Hirschfeldâs face into 17 million bloody butterflies 13 years before the first concentration camp. The butterflies stutteringly kiss the windÂ
with their wings, but the ripped planes of his boot-torn face pull them back in with every beat of his heart and further spill of blood. Though we cushioned his fall, none of us know what those insect eyes of his saw at that first blow.Â
Newspapers were so eager to hear the news of him choking on his own looped proboscis tongue that they had to issue a statement three days later correcting themselves: âWe apologize, Mr. Hirschfeld is still alive, and this is not to say that we wanted him dead as much as whoever attempted to blind rather than blacken both of his odd, many-lensed eyes did.â Magnus Hirschfeld smiles in his hospital bed. We dance in our place trapped in the lights. The paper flutters under his fingertips. Who else gets to read their own obituary? he asks.
II.
MAGNUS HIRSCHFELD IS DEAD; 1932 AND WE HAVE SET HIS PERVERTED TEXTS AFLAME. MAGNUS HIRSCHFELD IS DEAD; 1932 AND WHAT A SHAME WE COULDNâT CATCH HIS FLESH.
We, the stars not-watching this disaster, imagine that Magnus Hirschfeld had a feeling he wasnât coming back when he edged out Germanyâs door. If we struggle against our spatial constricts, we can see indistinct flames through the black skyâs coat of smoke, which
it pulls up around itself to protect the bright, multi-colored eyes of potential existences. We feel more than see Magnus Hirschfeldâs eyes struggle to tear the darkness of the night in France, and there is nothing to smile about now when all those bloody butterflies are nothing but flaming thorax shreds and wing dust
across black glovesâ too-straight fingertips; they will not help any future keepers of looped tongues. They only float up to join the sky in its foggy disgust, missing each starry eye under its coat. What is it? We wriggle to try to break out of our birth cocoons; uncover our eyes. Let us see.
III.
MAGNUS HIRSCHFELD IS DEAD; 1935 AND IN THIS FOOTNOTE, WE WISH THE MAN A HAPPY POSTMORTEM BIRTHDAY. MAGNUS HIRSCHFELD IS DEAD; MAY 14TH, 1935 AND NOW WE MOVE BACK TO WARTIME NEWS.
 We brighten in our twinkling. Do you hear that? The collective question, the sky shuffles its coat, a pumping set of butterfly wings enters, stopped in one life but stronger than anything in ours. Our grandparents are barely born, if they are at all, and
Magnus Hirschfeld wishes us all luck on his way up.
alright, Iâm about to post some works from my first semester of college (what was i waiting on, 2018?) so iâm gonna tag them all as âsemester oneâ (and then stuff from this upcoming semester will be tagged âsemester twoâ and so on)
not everything I wrote by any means, but quite a few poems and one short story â€ïž
hi everyone!!! this is guccimetti over on cer writing blog!!! my secret santa this year was @astral-clefairy who wanted some hardenshipping w/ may as their daughter and also manaphy with the family. i hope you like what i did with this--itâs kind of like a mini study of this little familyâs interaction with legendary pokemon over the years @pokemonshitposts
Once upon a time, a young boy and his friend came across a Pokémon awakened out of their millennium slumber. They were awakened, luckily for the pair of friends, on a Friday evening, after school, to stay until the next one.
âIâve heard about Jirachi before,â the boy said, the little PokĂ©mon easily floating around his and his friendâs heads. He had always been interested in Hoennâs legendaries, ever since his father had told him the story of Kyogre and Groudon. âJirachi grants wishes!â
âYes! Wishes!â the little PokĂ©mon said.
âNo way!â the boyâs friend said, furrowing her brow, âJirachi, I wish for that plushie I saw last week that my mom wouldnât get me.â
âPlushieâŠâ the PokĂ©mon said.  The little PokĂ©mon glowed and touched a hand to the boyâs friendâs forehead. âPlushie,â the PokĂ©mon said, more certain, and the very same Azurill plushie she had so fervently stomped her feet over appeared in her arms. She and the boy shared wide, matching grins.
-
The two lollipops, wedged into each hollow of the boyâs friendâs cheeks, made a loud pop as she simultaneously pulled them from her mouth. âJirachi looks sleepy,â she said, âhow long did you say theyâd stick around for?â
âA week,â the boy replied. It was the next Friday, after school, the sun beginning to set on the horizon.
âLast wish!â the little PokĂ©mon said gleefully but with a yawn.
The boyâs friend shot him a frantic look as if to say, You do itâthatâs too much pressure for me! The little PokĂ©mon, seeming to pick up on the silent conversationâs cues, floated into the boyâs arms. âLast wish, Archie! What is your last wish?â
What was there left to wish for, the boy wondered. It seemed he had everything he wantedâcandy, all the latest toys, posters of Kyogre, a waterbed. He resolved to wish for something he might want in the future, then. He took a deep breath in through his nose.
âJirachi, I wish that someday Iâll meet someone special. Someone really special.â
The PokĂ©mon smiled. âAre you sure you want just one?â they asked, but before the boy could answer, the PokĂ©mon glowed and fell back into their deep, deep sleep. The boy and his friend were silent for a time, watching the PokĂ©mon sleep.
Then, âHey! Am I not special?â
-
When May goes running off in the wildly oscillating flashes of skin-pummeling rain and brain-evaporating sunlight, sneakers slapping against wet and dry stone as she calls her Swellow out, both Archie and Maxie let out a shout of protest. May is gone, though, off to clean up her fathersâ messes, but of course, said fathers donât know that. Archieâs legs shake so badly that he drops down to his knees, and Maxie immediately starts screaming at everyone around them to do somethingâcanât they see that their daughter, their ten-year-old daughter, has just vanished in the middle of this catastrophe? Archie starts to gasp for air and dry heave against the ground, and Maxie kneels down next to him to rub his back and cry.
Meanwhile, in the sky, May is wiping away her own tears. The way her dads had both yelled at herâin interest of her safety, but stillâhad gotten her thinking about yelling, about the interactions heâd seen between Archie and Maxie while theyâd been separated. She gets out her PokĂ©Nav.
âWallace,â May says, still sniffling a bit.
âMay! What are you doing? Your dads are really worried about you.â Wallace tries to keep his voice loud enough to hear over the weather but low enough so that he doesnât have any former Team Aqua or Team Magma leaders breathing down his neck asking about their daughter.
âDo you knowâŠâ and now her sniffles pick up as she thinks about the gravity of the situation, âdo you know what toâŠwhat to do?â She pauses briefly. âIâm scared,â she adds quietly.
âI have an idea,â Wallace says, and as he talks, May steers her Swellow towards the Sky Pillar.
-
Rayquaza lies calm when May approaches them. She takes a deep breath, puffs out her chest (Sometimes youâve just gotta be tough, baby girl. Itâs not fun, and itâs usually not right, but sometimes, you have to. Hopefully, itâs not too often, though, sweetie, Archie had said to her once), and walks forward. Rayquaza tilts their head at her. They radiate an energy of presence ascended; itâs as if Rayquaza knows everything about the world, everything about May, everything about Groudon and Kyogre fighting and Mayâs dads doing just the same not long before. Rayquaza isâŠwaiting, May realizes. She feels oddly comforted and calmer than she has the entire day.
âRayquaza,â she begins, and her voice is steady, âplease help us. Please help our world.â Rayquaza breathes a puff of warm air against Mayâs skin, and she takes it as encouragement. Rayquaza likes her, sheâs coming to realize. âIt was my dads,â May admits, nodding a bit to herself. It doesnât hurt to sayâit doesnât make her want to cry like it did. It feels nice to say everything out loud. âDonât get them wrong: they both love the Earth. They justâŠlove the Earth differently, and I think that was their problem. But I donât really know what made them think this was a good idea, and I tried to stop them, butâŠâ May takes a deep breath, âtheyâve awakened Kyogre and Groudon, and theyâve realized now how bad of a mistake theyâve both made. Donât begrudge them for that, Rayquaza. I just ask that you help us because whatâs happening right now with Kyogre and GroudonâŠitâs scary. I donât know whatâs gonna happen toâŠto our home, Rayquaza.â
Rayquaza stares for a moment at May. She stares back. Rayquaza breathes another puff of hot air against Mayâs skin, lets out a cry, and flies up out of the Sky Pillar. May gives herself a moment to breathe and then runs down the stairs.
-
âWhatâs happening?â Archie asks, now standing, he and Maxie both supporting portions of the otherâs weight. The sky is clearing.
âRayquaza listened to May, I suppose,â Wallace says with a smile.
âRayquaza?â Maxie barks out.
After Groudon and Kyogre have gone back into their caves and into their sleep, Rayquaza takes off into the sky again. They come back to Sootopolis City with May on their back.
Thatâs when Archie and Maxie know.
-
Two years later, when May comes back from an adventure with the legendary PokĂ©mon Manaphy nestled into her arms, given everything, it isnât really much of a surprise to Archie and Maxie. After the fact, at least.
âSo, Dads,â May says quietly, mindful of Manaphy, once she reaches them in the living room, âdonât freak out.â
Archie and Maxie stare at her for a bit then look at each other. They like to think they live a nice, calm life in Alola, away from the mistakes of their past. But, of course, Tapu Koko had flown over from the Ruins of Conflict to greet May nearly the moment theyâd come to Alola, and Rayquaza sometimes still crosses the oceans to come and visit her. What is there to do?
Archie is the first to set down his book. âWell, you know my policy. Water type PokĂ©mon are always welcome in my house.â
âAnd because this is our house,â Maxie adds, âall PokĂ©mon are always welcome.â
Archie looks over at Maxie, affronted. âI canât even ruffle your fatherâs feathers anymore, May!â
She laughs and shifts Manaphy a bit in her arms. Manaphy sneezes, and water goes all across the floor.
âIâll get paper towels,â May says.
-
The sound of Mayâs laughter and loud splashes ring out through the air, creating a warmth in Archie and Maxieâs chests along with that of the warm Alola breeze. âManaphy!â May yells, and Manaphy jumps high above them to jump back down and splash her yet again. May squeals with laughter, and Archie squeezes Maxieâs hand tighter, that never-ending warmth spreading yet again.
Archie and Maxie are sitting on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and the sun shines brilliantly on May and Manaphy as they play. âSometimes,â Maxie says, and when Archie glances over at him, he still feels the urge to giggle at his giant straw hat, âI feel that we donât deserve this.â From below the cliff, May clings to a beachball, and Manaphy propels them along.
âMaybe we donât, Max,â Archie responds, âbut I like to think weâre good people despite it all.â
A giant bubble floats up to the cliff, then another. Archie and Maxie look down to see Manaphy blowing larger and larger bubbles while May laughs and claps. They love days like this: when May doesnât have to be the girl who saved Hoenn or one of the strongest trainers in Alola and can just be a 12-year-old girl instead. Archie gently nudges Maxie with his elbow. âCome on, letâs go swim.â Maxie groans but takes the hand Archie offers to him.
When they swim out to May and Manaphy, all four of them brighten up. And if a few other ancient, legendary PokĂ©mon smile a bit, wherever they are in the world, in whatever state of consciousness, that just makes sense, doesnât it?
yâall wanna know some tea???? yâall wanna know some fucking TEA right here right now on this day december 8th, 2017?????? my first final went decently well imo AND ya binch got accepted into one of the intermediate poetry writing classes that i applied for (by submitting FIVE of my poems)
promise Iâm still up at the writing game!!!! Iâve done a ton of writing for class these past few months, and Iâll surely be posting some of my revised works here in December
Lungs
They told me I entered the world screaming such as we all, all should, but thereâs always been something wrong about my breathing. Stethoscopes in their hands after examining my unknowing little baby face, exactly like all the others, but, still, thereâs something, somethingâ âoh, my love, oh, my heart, you have your great great uncle Magnusâs lungsâ (THE SAME CYANIDE AND CHAMBERS THAT WEAKNESS, THAT SMALLNESS, THAT FRAILNESS, THAT FUTILITY THAT POLYETHYLENE QUALITYâ âTHE THIN FILM MAY CLING TO NOSE AND MOUTH AND PREVENT BREATHINGââ THAT IS, IF NOTHING ELSE DOES FIRST. IF YOU ARE HEALTHY IT WILL TAKE TWO MINUTES). Sometimes gasping, sometimes hitching, sometimes panting, I could never breatheâ deserted on the banks the tide would never quite reach, being BAKED in that that scorches. Sometimes peopleâs words are as sharp and burning as the sunâ something in their breath mixes with mine, somewhere inside of them theyâre housing packets of pesticide that they can and will burst and suture at will. My chronic, constant panic attacks, coughing fits, breathlessnessâ my inborn suspicion of that that I breathe is a tragedy and an elegy
~m.a
Present Time, Todd Anderson
I really do love fic exchanges, secret santas, etc when I have time for them. This one is for @makeyourlivesextraordinary from @guccimetti over at cer writing blog. The prompt was â anderperry: the soulmate au where your soulmates last words are tattooed on their arm and Neil says the last words he says to Todd and Todd recognizes those words and gets Neil to talk to him, saving his life.â
word count: ~2,131
summary: Todd Anderson had wrapped the arm his soulmark is on in bandages the moment his soulmark started coming in. Today, he rips the bandages off.
read on AO3 or ff.net
Iâm really, really proud of this one, hope you love it!
(warnings for mentions of death and suicide and minor period typical homophobia)
@dpsficexchangeÂ
Rainbow Diffraction Spike
*crashes into the leoji tag 9 months late* HEY WHATâS UP (this is @guccimetti over at cer writing blog)
for leoji week 2 day 2: first meeting
word count: ~385
summary:Â Leo and Guang Hong meet at a rink in the summer of 2012 and form an instant connection (and watch all three High School Musicals in one day).
read on AO3 or ff.net
anyway, this little bite sized thing (itâs been so long since iâve written something under ~1k!!!!) started as an idea i got in bed one day and typed into my phone, which then turned into an idea for the soulmate prompt for the first leoji week, which then didnât happen bc of Stuff, which I then decided to make fit this prompt
I had to tweak this one a bit to make Guang Hong and Leo seem more like young teenagers bc I apparently forget sometimes that not everyone is a word maven like yours truly (which I definitely WASNâT when I was 13/14)
rainbow diffraction spike comes from the diffraction spike of stars (stars are mentioned a lot in the story) and part of Guang Hongâs name meaning rainbow
@leojiweek
my college has two writing requirements and the first one you have to fulfill in your first year (first or second semester depending on what letter your last name starts with) and thereâs 4 different levels youâre sorted in based on your writing sat score and uh. ur teen right here missed the mark for advanced placement by 20 points. so I had to send in a writing portfolio with three of my essays and a short letter requesting advanced placement and I GOT IN!!!!!!
and advanced placement gives you a lot more freedom of what classes will fulfill the requirement, and, because you know I want to be an english major, Iâm taking 3 english classes my first semester, and they all could be used to fulfill the first writing requirement
The Weak Spined, Part II
Barnyard mice always get trampled by horses. The warm hay, the dropped grain all they want. Running on paws folded in on themselves, frostbitten so severely by something outside of their control. Sharp-fanged snakes tell them to run in and fetch their midnight snacks. Sharp-fanged snakes slither in and eat their carcasses off the floor.
~m.a