#allusions to

[roseofhybrids]

As much as they loved her, Khan and Nori had no idea how to take care of baby Human Uzi. The first time Uzi got a mild fever Nori attempted to mercy kill her in order to spare her from what she thinks is a painful death and it was only after Khan found an old and worn out book of medicine and spent hours trying to convince her that she wasn’t going to die that Nori stopped trying to decapitate her daughter.

It's a wonder that she made it to the teen ages

[firestonesdcblog]

During a mission Batman gets de-aged, keeping his memories but having a hard time keeping track of them, and kidnapped by the leader of a trafficking scheme who'd just barely gotten away when Batman shut down the rest of his group. The only way to get to Batman is with an invite, as he plans to make Batman pay for ruining his plans.

Que Batkids showing up to try to win the bidding and rescue their friend.

Red Hood is waiting on Dick's request, having been promised that Batman would get rescued and then he could shut this entire thing down as violently as he wants.

Tim had needed some backing his other ID's dont have and had called Pru to help him rescue Batman (and also get him some LOA clothes) Damian had tracked down his old uniform and come as well. The two recognize each other and agree to pool resources to save Bruce.

Dick had found out about the auction when Deadpool had broke into his appartment and left a dufflebag with his old costume and an invite on his couch, apparently his respect for him extended to Batman. He'd gotten ready and Renegade had made his reappearance with a speech about how Batmna had 'stopped him from avenging his family and needed to get what he was owed'.

Small, emotionally distraught Bruce had taken one look at his son, thought Slade was forcing him to be Renegade again, and started crying partway through the speech.

Renegade wins just for that, and now Tim and Damian are trying to figure out how to get Bruce back from someone associated with Deathstroke.

(Jason gets a call from Barbara after he'd finished decimating the place, also assumes that Dick's plan had failed/Renegade had gotten to him first, and joins in on the chase.)

(Meanwhile until Red Hood shows up where Dick has hid them, Dick had no idea it was people he'd known chasing him. He's been trying to figure out what Ra's or a splinter group wants with tiny Bruce so badly)

[verdantrivers]

hey friends it's doodle dump time, and my current brainworms involve some geriatric scrolls and rims of sky, so i'm just going to make that all your problems hope that's cool, anyway here's my falmer db nerwith, he's miserable and his favourite food is Wall Snacks (those glowing mushrooms)

he's gonna befriend the guy that gave him his latest grievous head-wound. he's going to befriend him so fucking hard.

serana has some Concerns

Kaidan also has some Concerns. Specifically about Caryalind and his soulful shojo eyes that gaze right into his bitter and shriveled heart.

idk what it is, but Rumarin is always hyper aggressive to mudcrabs. maybe he wants to eat their succulent meats? who even knows the inner workings of his mind

he's tuckered out from yelling at dragons all day uwu

bonus: morbid curiosity compelled me to play some of the skyrim romance mod until sexlab made my game implode. it was all very Heterosexual, i had a blast.

very serious and real suggestion to the romance mod devs: allow for flirting options that let the ldb be just as much as an unhinged weirdo as bishop i think it would be so funny

[drusilla-951]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Tantus labor non sit cassus Let not such toil be in vain. (Sequentia, Requiem Mass. Attributed to Thomas of Celano.)

An AU case fic with dashes of classical music, Mozart’s Requiem among others.

When Morse, Strange and Thursday interview experts about a mysterious musical fragment, will they get the answers they need?

Not to mention some memories...

[otherpeoplesheartachept1]

Sub Rosa

The ballroom was empty

Only whispers of that evenings guests remained

Lamps blown out and curtians drawn

She started with out him.

A small figure among gold ornament and cold floors

She new the dance by heart,

Practiced for this dark room

Her bare feet stepped lightly

Nightgown moved with her grace.

Then,

A rustle from the curtians,

The smell of petals and a flutter of feathers

And he was here.

Easily they fell into rhythm

His hand placed on her back,

The other in her palm.

She could not see her love,

Dared not reach for his face

He was soft, sweet

But he would not be seen.

Love,

She had decided,

Did not need light.

As the silent music fades he leans closer

Hand in her hair

She pushes a chrysanthemum to his chest

Before he-

Soft light through the curtains.

And she is left alone.

Not to worry,

He tells her,

The darkness will come again soon.

-Cora M. W.

(Inspired by a prompt from @poetry-prompt-s that said to incorporate dancing, a pitch-black room, and the smell of flowers into a poem)

[laveusa-a-blog]

🔥 slides right in

distinctive sex headcanons.

extremely hypersexual and intensely dominant -- frequent sex is required in order for her to properly function, and even then, she usually cannot fully get off unless she is in the process of killing or, in best case scenario, severely injuring that person. blood, violence, and gore all multiply the sensation of pleasure, but nothing works better for her, disgustingly enough, than an already dead body.widowmaker refuses to be anything but dominant during sex and therefore outright refuses to take the role of the “bottom”. this is due to not only a severe fear of losing control, but especially a fear of losing control to someone in a specifically sexual nature due to repeated violations at the hands of others. if forced into the submissive role, widowmaker is quick to be overcome with severe panic and anxiety. because she is also very physically weak, it is difficult -- if not impossible -- to regain control from someone bigger and stronger on top of her.

[shimmershae]

Taking the Long Way Around (a Walking Dead One Shot, Caryl).

So.  Sorry for the completely uninspired title, lol, but I hope you enjoy this little story of mine anyway.  Apparently, you're going to get lots of these while I work my way through the horrendous block I'm suffering through with my other stories.  I hope you don't mind too terribly much.   

 Inspired by this dialogue prompt:  "Take the long way around." 

 A post-Season 7 fluff piece.  Probably post-Season 8 or 9 or Series Finale with the pacing on this maddening show, lol, but I hope it gives you the happy feels, nonetheless. 

 "...it’s a funny thing.  Finding your soulmate at the end of the world.  All the bullshit is stripped away, leaving what matters most."

“Take the long way around.” 

  Carol’s brows furrow.  Her lips tighten. 

  She’s working up an argument inside that pretty head of hers, but she knows him.  She keeps it short, and he’s thankful. 

  “What?  Why?” 

  “You heard me.” 

  “Heard you just fine,” Carol mutters wryly.  “Still don’t understand why.” 

  “Yeah, and you probably…” 

  “…never will,” she finishes for him. 

  She ain’t smiling, but she’s looking more relaxed, and Daryl knows her, too.  She trusts him.  Always has.  Always will if he has anything to say about it, and he hopes so.  He really fucking hopes so, because it’s a funny thing.  Finding your soulmate at the end of the world.  All the bullshit is stripped away, leaving what matters most.  And what matters most?  To him?  Is her.  And it’s been that way for a long damn time.  Just a few minutes of silence between them, hearing the crunch of the fallen leaves beneath their feet, feeling the sun on their faces, and he feels compelled to blurt out a confession.  “Ain’t nothing bad.” 

  She laughs then, looks at him with happy eyes that are crinkled at the corners, holds out her hand.  Palm up.  “I gathered that.  You seem…nervous.” 

  “Yeah?” 

  She nods, threads her cool fingers within his own when he grasps her offered hand.  “Nervous,” she repeats.  “But not worried." 

  She’s right and she’s wrong.  He’s hopeful.  That’s what he is.  Nervous and a little bit worried, too.  Because they’ve been them for a long time, watching each other.  Watching out for each other.  But this?  Just holding her hand, without any hesitation, without overthinking it?  That’s new.  Loving her ain’t.  But not keeping his love for her bound up tight and silent in his chest where nobody else could touch it or mock it, dare to take it away from him?  Well.  They’ve come a long way since the end of the War, and still.  He’s ready to travel that broken road with her a little further.  Provided she’s in, and he hopes so.  He really fucking hopes so.  “M’a little worried.” 

  She smiles softly at his confession, tugs on his hand until he stumbles forward.  Awkwardly enough to make her laugh into the kiss she gifts him with, gentle and soft.  Searching and soothing.  The fingers of her free hand slide through the dark tangle of his hair, cup the back of his head, and she nuzzles her nose against his when she finally pulls away.  Leaves little lingering pecks on his lips until he whimpers and she sighs.  “You have nothing to be worried about.” 

  Daryl lets out a cross between a laugh and a snort of disbelief. 

  She squeezes his hand tight, leans into him when his arms come up around her.  “We’re trying, remember?  You and me.  We’re not just surviving anymore.  We’re living the best way we know how.” 

  “Doing pretty damn good you ask me.” 

  If she hears the waver in his voice, the briefest break in a confidence hard-earned, she doesn’t let on.  Not at all.  “Better than good.” 

  He loves her even more for it.  Feels anxious now to get going.  The light is growing long now.  It dances and shimmers in the air, all golden-like, and he’s stalled long enough.  So he kisses the top of her head, pulls away.  But he don’t go far, never does really.  Neither does she.  “C’mon.  Best get going.” 

  She plays with his fingers, tips her silver head back and smiles into the fading sun.  “I don’t know.  It’s pretty romantic.” 

  She looks like some sort of fairy goddess painted in the soft light like she is, and Daryl’s heart squeezes with happiness.  So much so a rare, full-mouthed grin takes over.  “Stop.” 

  She just grins back, squeezes his hand again before letting go.  “One of these days, Dixon.  One of these days that iron-clad resolve of yours is going to crack and you’re going to take me up on my offer.  Mark my words.” 

  “Keep telling yourself that.” 

  She tilts her head, considers him for a brief moment.  “I’ll get the best of you yet.” 

  Daryl doesn’t tell her she already has.  Figures she already knows, somewhere deep down.  “Best get going,” he reminds her again.  “You know how Jerry likes his cobbler.  Won’t be any left.” 

  “There will.  He likes me better.” 

  He can’t argue that, so he doesn’t.  Just steers them along, navigates the woods he’s become so familiar with since the end of it.  They walk and their shoulders brush, and Daryl’s thoughts, well.  They wander.  To all that has been between them and all that they’ve lost.  Four little girls and his blood brother.  Friends that became family and carved their names into their bruised and battered hearts.  Allies that gave their all.  He thinks of all of them and his heart hurts, yeah.  Probably always will.  But he’s found his peace.  In her.  And he feels lucky.  Because they’re here now.  Together like this.  He hopes that’ll never change.  Hopes she feels the same way.  He thinks she does.  He knows her, and so, when they reach those Kingdom gates, he takes her hand in his own.  Gives her his trademark curled lip smile because her answer is a foregone conclusion.  Always was. 

  Surrounded by their family and their newfound friends, she gives him a tearful nod.  Presses her forehead to his and places her hand over his pounding heart. 

  Not many people left in this world can say they’ve been married by a King.  Daryl likes to think Glenn would get a kick out of that.  Hell.  He knows Merle would. 

[herpelagesofine]

Gone

There were things about that day that Xhuuya would always remember, no matter how hard she tried to forget. The sun through the trees, dappling Briona’s copper hair in vibrant gold and deep burgundy shadow. The way she laughed, high and long, at some joke Xhuuya had made. The dip in the hollow of her throat, perfect for a gentle kiss. The sloping curve of her hips as she shucked off her pants down to her swimming suit. The way the light on the water was almost blinding, making a halo around her as she turned to smile at her.

It was hot, that day in the middle of July, with nothing around except the trees and the water. Quiet, private. Just the two of them. Briona lived in town, just a couple miles up the road from her people, and her mother and father owned the grocery store there. They didn’t know about them, about what they were to each other, but it didn’t matter. They were going to go away to college together and never look back at the dreary, sleepy town. Two more years, they promised, two more years and they would be free. Headstrong, mischievous Briona has plans to go into counseling. She’s always known who she is and what she wants, but she knows that not everyone has that luxury. Xhuuya wants to be near her to soak up some of her sunlight and her complete faith in herself. Xhuuya wants her to help her know herself, and Briona is only too willing to oblige.

But today it’s hot and today was a day for swimming at Miller’s Quarry. Early in the day, so all the other kids would still be asleep. So the surrounding woods were painted pink and gold and purple by the dawning light.

It happens in an instant.

One minute Briona is standing in the shallows, laughing and splashing her. The next she takes a step backwards and just vanishes. Xhuuya waits a beat, expecting a prank, and grows more worried as seconds pass. She steps forward, stumbles when her feet don’t meet more sandy bottom. It’s a pit with no end and she gags on an unexpected mouthful of water, coughing just at the surface. Her knee bangs into a rocky outcrop just a foot away and she cries out in pain. Her feet are suddenly freezing, the chill traveling up her legs. She claws desperately at the side of the pit, barely catches her breath before something surfaces nearby. Copper hair, matted red and black. She swims over, still choking, and drags Briona into the shallows, repeating a litany of ‘no’s over and over.

It’s a lost cause, she knows it in the back of her mind, but she tries CPR anyway. Every time she presses on her chest, her head bleeds more, and all it does is expel more water from her lungs. Briona never takes another breath, just remains pale and blue around the lips and bruised around the eyes.

Xhuuya carries her body back, slowly and painfully. Her knee is a bloodied mess and the flies are biting at her, and she forgot her shoes and shirt at the shore. But that doesn’t phase her because in an instant all her dreams have died in that quarry pool.

There is no going back.