Anonymous asked: hi! hope this doesn't come off as pressure-y, im not at all trying to be like that, but how about long does it usually take you to respond to a (headcanon? request? headcanon request? idk what to call it) ask? i ask bc i worried that it got eaten but im also,,,rlly rlly shy lol. (i hope you're having a good day!)

Hey, anon, don’t worry about it!  And as far as the average time to finish an ask…um, this isn’t going to be the answer you want to hear, but it varies.  Everything from how busy my life in the wider world is to how many asks I have to how well my brain box is treating me that day can delay finishing an ask.  Fic prompts that I don’t have inspiration for can linger in my inbox for weeks or months until I feel sufficiently interested in it, or I might never feel sufficiently interested.  Even stuff I want to write can sit idle for a long time depending on my mental state–some days I just don’t have the spoons to…like…think and interact with the world.  I try to answer actual personal asks (people looking for advice, etc) as soon as possible, based on how urgent the ask seems to be and/or how strongly I feel about the situation–I think the fastest I ever answered a personal ask was this one BDSM situation.

  • Now, regarding the headcanon asks, I’ve still got seven (…possibly eight?) left, but I’ve also been pretty busy.  The headcanon asks can take twenty minutes or two hours to actually write up, so I might have just not gotten to yours yet!  Here’s a list of the characters I’ve still got to complete, so you can see if your ask is here:
    • Allura from Voltron
    • One of the Berenson brothers (it’s gonna be Jake) from Animorphs
    • Furiosa from Mad Max
    • Rey or Phasma from Star Wars
    • Brenneth from Alleirat
    • Hellboy (this..wasn’t actually a headcanon ask but it’s Happening)
    • Corlath and Harry’s kids from The Blue Sword
    • Breq and/or Seivarden from Imperial Radch

    If your request isn’t here, it probably got eaten.

    And on that subject, I’m tired and in pain so I’m gonna write some headcanons to make myself feel better.  Peace.

    necer0s asked: You mentioned Castlevania, so: Trevor Belmont for the headcanon meme?

    Buddy you have answered the call and here are some headcanons about this disaster for this headcanon meme.  Disclaimer that I know NOTHING about the games and this is 100% based on the show.  Also, welcome to Latin Hour.

    A: what I think realistically

    Here are a set of three related headcanons that are my ride-or-die Opinions about this show.

    First of all, the Belmont family was quite sizable—Belmont family proper, I’m sure there are any number of illegitimate children and/or other branches scattered around Europe.  They were close, most of the family living on the hereditary estate with the exception of the transient full-time hunters, but tough love was very much the word of the day.  It had to be, given their family duty and the sheer death rate.  Technically the Belmont family motto is Numquam Retro, arched over the ancient family crest. But for as long as Trevor can remember, the real family motto has been this: no matter how good a Belmont is, there is always something just that little bit better.  Aut cum scuto aut in scuto, reads the legend over the family mausoleum, either with shield or on shield, and it is much truer.  Belmonts come home victorious, or they don’t come home.

    Second of all, Trevor was the crowning jewel of the Belmont family—a talented warrior from a young age, well-versed in the bestiary, and devoted, so devoted, to the ideal.  No one becomes as bitterly disillusioned as Trevor without having a long, long fall to get there.

    Third of all, the Belmont family took their excommunication as they had taken every attempt to stop them from serving their duty: with stoic, stubborn disregard. They received the Bull informing them of their banishment and replied with a politely immovable “thank you but we’re rather too busy to be excommunicated right now.”  The Catholic Church responded as was highly typical in the 1400’s.

    Trevor was returning from an utterly mundane errand into town, seeking some small gift for his baby sister’s first kill, when he saw the smoke start to climb. He reached the estate just in time to watch the fire bring the roof down and cut the screaming short.

    B: what I think is fucking hilarious

    For the first little while of their journey, Sypha and Alucard are relatively sure that their third member is the muscle, the street-smarts, to their formal education.

    Then Trevor busts out some fluent Latin to translate a book and adds a snide insult for good measure, o salvator somnelente mi.

    They are both dumbfounded, and Trevor rolls his eyes at them.

    “The Belmonts weren’t just a bunch of country drunks,” he points out, and tosses the book carelessly at Alucard.  “We were scholars too.  Carry that, would you?”

    C: what is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict on friends

    The three of them have been on the move, hunting for Dracula’s castle, for a full month and a half when Alucard finds Trevor sitting on watch outside the ransacked farmhouse they’ve claimed as shelter from the weather.  Normally, even if he’s drinking or on watch or distracted, Alucard struggles to get the drop on Trevor, which is far more of a statement about Belmont House’s skill than Alucard suspects even Trevor himself realizes. This time, Trevor jolts, even though Alucard takes care to make noise so as not to alarm Sypha.

    “Belmont?” Alucard asks, crouching down to be on eye level with him.  “Are you all right?”

    Trevor doesn’t respond—in all honesty, seems to barely hear the question.  “I had a baby sister,” Trevor says distantly.  “Older twins, too, but my baby sister—she just killed her first werewolf about a year and a week ago.  I got back just in time for the celebration.”

    Alucard sits down beside him, cautious.  “That is quite an achievement.  How old was she?”

    “Fourteen.”  Trevor blinks, takes a deep breath and lets it out, studies the moon with uncommon concentration.  “She burned, a year ago, with my brother, and my elder sister, and my parents, my cousins…”

    “Ah,” Alucard says quietly, and does the math.  “Your family must have been quite large.”

    “Forty of us,” Trevor confirms.  “And every single one of them died in that fire.”  

    Alucard nods, and tucks his knees up so that he can wrap his arms around them, and they sit there in the quiet for a while.  If there’s a trace of moisture beading on Trevor’s lashes, neither of them mention it.

    “I cannot imagine what it feels like,” Alucard says at last, barely a whisper, “to lose so many loved ones to the fire.”

    “No,” Trevor confirms.  “But you have a better idea than most.”

    D:  what would never work with canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway

    There’s not really enough canon to make a judgement one way or another, but.

    I really fiercely want the more intelligent demons—it’s clear that some, if not all, of the Night Horde are human-level intelligent—to start to…remember. Once upon a time the House of Belmont was the most feared force in Hell, the levee that held back the tide of the supernatural from washing over the majority of the populace.  Now the levee has been broken (burned) and the tidal wave is rushing in and the demons are running free—

    And some of them, meeting a stubborn-jawed man with alcohol on his lips and the ancient crest on his chest, think twice.

    Thinking twice is, more often than not, the last thing they do on this plane of existence, before the silver of Alucard’s sword or Sypha’s power strikes them down, or before the last son of the House of Belmont lashes out with whip and blade and holy water.

    Those that escape spread the word: despite the Church’s best efforts, there is still a Belmont abroad in the land, and he has allies, and he is doing his family proud.

    Strange, perhaps, that the last Belmont would be flattered by the rumors of a demon horde.

    Anonymous asked: You did Nyota for the headcanon ask meme, can you do Bones?

    Headcanon meme.  Bones is my one true saltmate, okay, it’s like a soulmate but with bitterness about the world.  Also, this is a little bit gonna be the Jim & Bones Friendship Hour.

    A: what I think realistically

    Bones actually has a very real phobia of space.  Like, he manages it.  He does a good job managing it.  But.

    Listen.

    In order to successfully graduate Starfleet Academy, every student must take and pass a shuttle piloting class.  In case of emergency.  Pass proficiently, not just scrape by on a wing and a prayer. Bones fails twice and scrapes that pass the third time and honestly he’s thinking about just giving up.  He knows all the settings and controls—Jim drilled him silly after that first fail—but getting into the simulator and seeing all that black, and the pressure, he just.  He locks up.  It’s all he can do to control his breathing, never mind controlling the shuttle. He can’t go back to Georgia and he can’t do this and where does that leave him?

    Jim finds Bones in a tiny-ass little bar the day before his fourth retest date and drags him protesting out the door, about eight whiskeys down, and bundles him into bed and listens to him mumble about how he’s never going to pass and he’s never going to graduate and honestly fucking good because space is the worst and Jim’s crazy for wanting to go there but also Jim’s going to go into space without him and Bones doesn’t have anywhere else to go and it’s all just really awful, you know what I mean, Jimmy?

    “Sure, buddy,” Jim says, propping Bones up and pushing a glass of water into his hands. “Drink something, okay?”

    The next day, at 1500 hours, Bones stumbles into the simulator room with—well, not the worst hangover of his life, but probably top ten.  And lo and fucking behold, instead of the usual gaggle of students looking to (re)test, there’s James Goddamn Kirk, hands stuffed in his pockets and a sunny-ass smile on his smart-ass face.  James Goddamn Kirk, who passed his pilot’s test with glowing scores on the first try.

    James Goddamn Kirk, who somehow lied and cheated his way in here so that he could sit in the simulator while Bones sweats his way through a passing grade.

    It doesn’t cure his phobia, obviously, but the first time Bones does actually have to pilot a shuttle, it’s James Goddamn Kirk bleeding out in the copilot’s seat and Bones barely even notices his heart race.

    B: what I think is fucking hilarious

    Leonard McCoy, day one of his term at the Academy as he stumbles, shaking and panting, off the shuttle, swears to himself that he’s going to pry this blue-eyed limpet off him on the spot and also sedate anyone who addresses him as Bones.

    Day one of his second year at the Academy, Bones McCoy gets half-tackled by Jim, who’s already talking about this badass new Tactics class they’re offering, I’m gonna take it and I’m gonna destroy everyone, it’s gonna be awesome and he has no idea how this happened.

    What would have been day one of his fourth year, Bones is fuck knows how far into the black of space, listening to his crew tattle on Jim’s delinquent ass.

    “Doc, I don’t think he’s taken an off shift in, like, a couple days maybe,” Sulu says as he passes through for an antihistamine.

    “I’ll work on it,” Bones says, and jabs Sulu with a hypo.  “Stop poking plants you don’t recognize.”

    “Doctor McCoy, Alpha shift told me to tell you that the captain forgot to eat today,” Chekov reports, sticking his head inside.  “Can I get another screen?”

    “I’ll deal with that,” Bones says, and waves the kid in.  “Stop sleeping with people you don’t know.”

    “Doctor, I would appreciate it if you intervened in the Captain’s opinion that holodeck safety protocols are optional,” Spock says evenly as Chapel checks him for broken ribs.

    “I’ll do my best,” Bones says, and gives Spock a bitter wave with the medical tricorder. “Stop getting in fistfights, you have a damn phaser.”

    “Doctor,” Uhura starts as Bones sprints past her.  “I think the Captain might be allergic–”

    “I’m on my way!” he yells back over his shoulder.  “Stop Spock from causing a diplomatic incident!”

    “Doc,” Scotty starts, leaning into the medbay and squinting painfully.

    “I don’t want to hear it,” Bones snarls, and gives Scotty a vengeful jab with a hangover hypo (actually a calibrated mix of thiamine, folic acid, and magnesium sulfate, but listen, it’s a hangover hypo) as he marches past toward the bridge.

    Bones has Regrets.

    C: what is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict on friends

    Bones keeps expecting to get to a point where he’s…like…past being horrified and shocked when one of the crew rolls in, near death or already dead.

    It wears on his soul like acid, every time.  He decides very early that he’s going to leave Starfleet when Jim dies.  The longer he spends on the Enterprise, the more names he adds to that list (when Spock dies, when Uhura dies, when Chekov-Sulu-Scotty dies).

    Bones is a doctor, not an adventurer.  He’s not built to outlive these people.  When they are gone, he will never leave orbit again.

    D:  what would never work with canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway

    Read an AU once where Bones was a humanitarian aid volunteer at like 21/22 who went to Tarsus IV and met furious, half-starved, 13-year-old, fresh-off-a-genocide JT Kirk and it was my favorite thing.  It was also abandoned after like two chapters.  But like.  Any intersection of my infinite feelings about Tarsus IV and my infinite feelings about Bones & Jim (& Spock) friendship is My Favorite Thing and I believe in my heart that this is true.  Bones didn’t recognize him at the time and it takes him years to connect the emaciated murderous kid with the electric blue eyes to his buoyantly brilliant best friend, but he does, eventually.  He asks Jim straight up, very late one night, and they have one single conversation about it before they vow to never discuss it again.

    aethersea asked: For the ask meme - how about Sophie Devereaux?

    Sophieeeeee yes.  Headcanon meme.

    A: what I think realistically

    Sophie is highly suspicious of Maggie a while.  Not because of Nate, just because.  Because Maggie is Maggie.  Because Maggie is good and honorable and honest and Sophie is…Sophie is not those things.  Sophie is a criminal and her thefts might not have hurt anyone, but sometimes she thinks about little children with stolen artifacts, about the look on her team’s faces when they realized she’d played them, and wonders what the fallout pattern of her life looks like.  Maggie surely doesn’t have to think about that (Sophie is wrong about this) and Sophie cannot understand why someone like that would willingly put herself in the middle of all this.

    Sophie gets past this, of course.  Maggie, she comes to realize, is just.  Maggie. She is good and honorable and honest, and just as furious and steely and brilliant and cold-eyed as her ex-husband.

    So obviously Sophie sleeps with her.  It’s a good fling, all intimacy and affection with absolutely no romance, and Sophie is lying in bed when Maggie bends down to kiss her forehead and say, “I hope things work out with you and Nate.  You’re too good for him.”

    “Of course I am,” Sophie sniffs.  “We both are.”

    B: what I think is fucking hilarious

    To be COMPLETELY clear, Nate gets Sophie’s wedding ring engraved with ‘Your Name Here’ even though he knows!  He fucking knows!  He knows her real name!  He knows all her titles and ranks and everything (you’ll never tell me that Sophie isn’t actually a British noblewoman okay) and yet! Fucking!  Your Name Here!

    They have to pause the service so that Sophie can stop laughing.

    C: what is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict on friends

    Sophie really wants to be in love, but she’s…she’s afraid of the part between being strangers and being in love.  It’s so vulnerable, putting little bits of yourself out there one at a time and waiting to see if the other person is going to slap you down.  She wonders, every time she sits down with a new person, what they would think of the real her, and she opens her mouth to say “my name is Sophie Devereaux” and instead some other name pops out.  And in the end, inevitably, she slips up, gets too comfortable and shows a bit of the wrong self and…

    Well, there she is again.  Wanting to be in love and sitting down to introduce herself and giving the wrong name.

    D:  what would never work with canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway

    Um…I honestly have no idea, so instead here’s an AU I want.

    I want a mutant AU where Sophie is a metamorph a la Mystique, and her ‘Sophie’ face isn’t actually…her real face.  Like, she thinks of it as her real face.  It’s the face she always wears when they’re not doing a con.  Even when they are doing a con she doesn’t like to depart too far from it.  But when she was a kid she had a different face, and she shifted whenever she could, into whoever she wanted, and then one day she was standing in front of a mirror and shifting back and she…couldn’t quite remember what color her eyes were. Hazel, or mahogany?  Black lashes or brown?  Did her skin have pink or yellow undertones?

    Sophie Devereaux wears a face assembled out of her favorite features.  She takes a picture of that face, the moment she fixes it the way she likes it, and keeps the picture beside her mirror so that she can always get it right.

    Anonymous asked: please, tell me more about death and the gay barista. where does death get her hair done? why does death like iced chocolate? has death ever considered a netflix subscription?

    oh, and one more: has death read the princess bride? does death like the princess bride?

    Here are five headcanons about Death and Sephie the gay barista!  (…are they headcanons if it’s my own stuff?)

    ONE

    Sephie has never seen someone with hair like Death’s.  It’s as thick as sheep’s wool, but perfectly obedient, sleek curls that pile up around her shoulders like snowfall.  Hours of styling, even in a salon, could never reproduce it.  They’re sitting in one of Death’s gardens–phosphorestent blossoms cast an eerie blue-white light over the sleek black walls and the cataract of precious gems pouring into a false river of opal and lapis lazuli and sapphire–and Death’s head is in Sephie’s lap as she plays with the curls.  Sephie stretches one white lock out and it springs back, and Death opens an eye, smiling when she sees Sephie grinning.

    “Is it so amusing?”

    “Yes,” Sephie says, delighted.  She pulls out another curl and cocks her head as Death opens her other eye.  “Why don’t you dye it anymore?”

    “Dye it?” Death repeats, blinking.  Sephie nods, and it takes a moment before her question seems to click in Death’s mind.  “Oh!”  Death laughs a little.  “No, I didn’t dye it.  What color did you like best?”

    “The red was nice,” Sephie says, bemused.  Death smiles at her and closes her eyes, and Sephie watches as each hair begins to change, deep venous scarlet seeping through each strand from the scalp until her lap is full of riotous red. Death opens her eyes again as Sephie huffs out a breath of surprise and rakes her fingers through the newly colored mass.

    “Do you like it better like this?  I can appear however I choose, this is simply,” Death gestures down at herself, “my preference.”

    “I love it,” Sephie says, bending down to kiss Death’s hairline and reveling in the electrical shock of the contact.  “However you want to wear it.  Surprise me.”

    TWO

    “Where does the food come from?” Sephie asks, evaluating an apple.  It’s crisp and red and perfect, and she knows that when she bites into it, it will be sweet and delicious.  “Why do you even keep food here?”

    “The fruit comes from my orchard,” Death says from her throne.  A bowl of pomegranate seeds like drops of blood frozen in crystal rests in her lap, and her fingertips are stained with their juice as she pops one at a time into her mouth.   “And I keep food here because I like it.  And because you like it.”

    “You mean those trees actually grow fruit?” Sephie asks, startled.

    “Of course.  The rest of the food, I do what I can.  My sister brings me gifts sometimes.  She knows I love Earth food.”

    “You mean she knows you have a terrible sweet tooth,” Sephie says, pointing at Death with her apple, and Death smiles, holding out the shallow bowl of pomegranate seeds toward her.  Sephie returns the apple to a dish that she suspects might be solid diamond and walks forward, until Death can neatly pull her into her lap in place of the bowl.  “You can’t fool me,” Sephie says, reeling in the pomegranate seeds to pop a few into her mouth.  They burst cool and sparkling over her tongue.  “I served you iced chocolate every day for years.”

    “I do love chocolate,” Death confirms, and stretches up to peck a kiss on Sephie’s lips.  It tastes like pomegranates.

    THREE

    Sephie doesn’t actually know how many rooms are in Death’s citadel, but then again, Sephie is dead, and has thus reached a state of Zen acceptance about all things.  So when she opens a door one morning and finds a library with shelves twenty feet high, she doesn’t ask a lot of questions.

    Death finds her quite some time later, comfortably stretched on a reclining couch upholstered in emerald green with a small tower of books climbing beside her.  Slinking onto the couch beside her, Death coils catlike into the empty spaces left on the surface and insinuates her head onto Sephie’s belly, curls–amber gold today–spilling over them both.  Sephie giggles and laces one hand into Death’s curls, lowering her book.

    “What are you reading?”

    “I have no idea.  It’s called Resenting the Hero, it’s great.”  Sephie gestures around her at the library.  “What is this place?”

    “My library,” Death says.  “I’ve only just added it.”

    “Only just?”

    Death shrugs against Sephie’s side.  “I never thought to add something purely for the sake of leisure before.  Sometimes spirits spend time in my gardens, or my orchards, but this…”  She looks up at Sephie through her lashes, almost shy.  “This is my own space.  And yours, of course.”

    Sephie spends a few moments working very hard not to melt through the couch at that, then clears her throat and says, “Have you ever considered a theater room?”

    “A…theater room?” Death says musingly.  “Would you like one?”

    Sephie laughs.  “Well, it might be nice to watch a movie together.  You would like The Princess Bride–it’s a classic.”

    “I shall look into it at once.”

    FOUR

    Sephie’s favorite room in the citadel is a cave–or rather, it seems like a cave.  The walls drip with rubies and topaz, garnet and carnelian and amber, the ceiling laden with stalactites, and the floor stacked with pillows in a deep bowl shape.  Bringing a light inside turns the jewels into leaping, frozen fire, and casts fractured glints and glitters across the pillows.

    Death doesn’t begrudge her a thing, is more than willing to give Sephie anything she asks for, and when she learns of Sephie’s affection for the place, it begins to mysteriously fill itself with gifts.  Bouquets of glowing flowers from the gardens, blankets and cushions of a fineness that Sephie never saw in life, sweets and books and bowls of pomegranate seeds and apples and cherries.  Death is always shy, when she comes to the fire-crystal room, and insists firmly that it is vital that Sephie have her own space.

    Death shouldn’t be so endearing.

    But stretched on the floor of Sephie’s fire-crystal room, turning her hair different colors as Sephie feeds her pomegranate seeds, it’s quite undeniable.

    FIVE

    Death doesn’t sleep.  Sephie doesn’t need sleep, anymore, but Death doesn’t seem to be capable of it.  So Sephie is a little startled to find that Death keeps a bed chamber, well, if palely, lit and ornamented with the same pristine jewels as the rest of the citadel.  The bed is soft and comfortable, a canopied thing with blue and green jewels inlaid in the black stone corner posts, and piled deep with pillows, and the bedside table is stacked with books and one of the shallow bowls of fruit.  Sephie doesn’t need sleep anymore, but more than once she has taken a nap in Death’s bed, purely because it’s so pleasant, and she often wakes up to find Death curled up beside her, eyes open but breath steady and calm.

    This is not one of those times.  Death, after a long series of hearings and judgments in her audience chamber, comes to find Sephie in a garden with her usual unerring efficiency.

    “Come with me,” Death says, and Sephie–oh, of course Sephie does.

    Curled up with her head on Death’s chest, Sephie feels the low crackle of lightning through her nerves, the unmistakable feeling of power from being close to Death.  Death’s hand is tracing Sephie’s jaw as she sorts through the books on the table with the other, and Sephie hums, a pleasant sound vibrating deep through her chest.

    “Read to me,” Sephie commands, and Death laughs, the sound even more inhuman at close range, before pulling her hand back with a book.  It’s a plain paperback, with a black and red cover embossed with gold lettering.

    “Have you read Sunshine yet?” Death asks, amused, and Sephie smiles.  “I did recommend it to you.”

    “You did,” Sephie agrees, and nestles deeper into the pile of cushions  as she tucks an arm around Death’s waist.  Even skin-to-skin, Death has no heartbeat, and her chest only rises and falls so that she can speak, but Sephie has gotten past finding it strange–it is calm, soothing, a level of peace that Earth never offered.

    Death kisses Sephie’s hair and opens the book.  “Part One,” she begins.  “It was a dumb thing to do, but it wasn’t that dumb.  There hadn’t been any trouble out at the lake in years…”

    Anonymous asked: tell me more about the Animorphs DnD Au. I really just need an AU where they don't suffer and just have a good time

    My buddy, me too right this second.  For those of you who are not aware, that comment is buried somewhere in this recap of Book 7.

    All right, so, like, here’s a basic breakdown of how it all goes down.

    It starts with Jake’s big brother Tom, who, like, listen, his parents went “keep an eye on your younger brother after school on Fridays” and Tom went “that’s cruel” and his parents went “don’t be an ass” and Tom huffed like a teenage asshole and rolled his eyes and went “FINE.”  So he decides that if he’s going to be mandatory babysitter for like four hours on Friday afternoons he’s going to do something amusing with his time, and he asks Jake if he knows anything about DnD.  Jake goes “nope!” with good-natured interest because this is his big brother, and Tom’s like “GREAT we’re going to do that recruit your friends”.  And Marco’s in on the spot because he’s a fucking nerd who’s probably done reading on DnD even though he’s never been able to actually play a campaign, and Rachel agrees on behalf of herself and Cassie because she’s exasperated with Jake and Cassie and this is an opportunity to force them to spend multiple hours together.  (Cassie is unexpectedly the major sticking point here, but her parents are like “PLEASE HAVE FRIENDS AND A LIFE OUTSIDE THE BARN” so ultimately she ends up going.)

    On the first day, as they’re leaving school, Rachel grabs Jake by the arm and points subtly over his shoulder.  “Hey,” she whispers, “isn’t that Tobias?”  It is, in fact, Tobias.  Actively in the process of maybe fighting a bully for his backpack–if Tobias loses his backpack, no way is his uncle buying him a new one, and he’s also going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble, so yeah he’s gonna fight for it.  Jake and Rachel don’t know this at the time, but listen, Berensons are Berensons in any universe.  Jake ambles over, all cheerfully broad shoulders and stocky build just starting to settle into ‘teen’ rather than ‘kid,’ and silently menaces the bullies into stepping down.  And then he kind of subtly kidnaps Tobias to go with them.

    (Ax moves into town a month later.  He’s living with his much-older brother who used to be a soldier and now he’s done with that and working as a computer…person.  Full disclosure, I don’t know that much about Comp Sci, but Elfangor Shamtul is a programmer and he’s the rising star.  Ax is living with him because *waves hand* better schools maybe?  IDK.  That’s how Ax shows up, and they kind of adopt him because he’s new and he joins their campaign.)

    Tom, because he’s kind of a dick, declares that he won’t tell them anything about the plot, except that they all have to dual-class as modified Druids.  

    (I have added a cut because this got kind of long.)

    Keep reading

    Anonymous asked: Do you mind doing Max from Mad Max Fury Road for the headcanon meme?

    Hell yeah headcanon meme.  Full disclosure: I have not seen the other Mad Max movies, and I am Out Of It right now.

    A: what I think realistically

    It takes time for Max to return to the Citadel for good—time to feel less like he’s breaking apart at the seams when people speak to him—but that’s not to say he doesn’t return.  He hasn’t had what he might call Real Feelings in long time, longer than even he really knows, but bending over Furiosa in the truck, cupping the nape of her neck in rough hands made gentle through sheer desperation, feeling her flesh hand clutch at him as she tries to say bring them home—he knows, in this blinding stroke of insight, exactly how screwed he is.  He let this woman touch him, let her help him, let her rest a rifle on his shoulder and without thinking twice trusted that she wouldn’t turn it on him.

    He leaves the Citadel, with a bike loaded with water and rations and ammo.

    He comes back again with a kid on the back of his bike and a grenade belt and a new set of points on his map, and wordlessly turns the former over, keeps the second, and shows them the latter.

    The next time he comes back, he has a truck and no explanations and no kids, but he shows up two days ahead of a small exodus of desperate people who need help—we were told that there was water—and who have this story about how the man in the truck got sucked into their drama and then told them about the Citadel and never gave his name.  Max is gone by the time Furiosa hears this story, and she sighs, and sets about finding these people something to do.

    This is how it will be, then, she decides the third time the hail goes up from the watchtowers—incoming! Incoming!  It’s the Road Warrior!  Get the Imperator!

    She sighs, and walks down to meet him.

    B: what I think is fucking hilarious

    Everyone expects Max, having returned properly to the Citadel, to immediately take on a role of prestige and grandeur.  He’s the Road Warrior, the man who helped save the Sisters and Furiosa from Immortan Joe’s grip, the man who’s been sending them survivors and bringing them supplies, the man who was a blood bag and a hood piece and survived a great sandstorm.  Obviously he’s instantly going to be promoted to the highest role save for Furiosa and the Sisters themselves.  Alternatively, they would also accept ‘concubine’ as a reasonable answer, but they understand that the Sisters might not be comfortable with that.

    Um…except he’s not.  He runs supply missions still, sure—sometimes he and Furiosa run them together and everyone knows that’s Serious Business—but as far as the majority of the Citadel is concerned, Max’s main job is…furniture?  It’s his honor, of course, they always rush to add, his honor to be favored by the Imperator, but they have questions.  

    Furiosa can just reach out a hand, getting ready to leave on a mission, and snap her fingers at him, and Max will appear beside her as if by magic so that she can balance herself on his shoulder to get her boots on as fast as possible. When they’re out on the Wastes, Furiosa gestures behind her and Max compliantly sits down on the ground so that their backs are pressed together as a support.  Trying to plot a map by spreading it awkwardly out on her hand, Furiosa gruffly calls him over and he lets her spread it out against his back, an impromptu table.  At her absolute most relaxed among the Sisters and no one else, Furiosa will sit on the floor in front of Max (in a chair in deference to his leg) and use his thighs as a lounge chair/throne.  One time when she was heavily concussed and a little blood-loss-y, she dropped onto a pallet with a huff and wordlessly flapped her hand at Max until he came over and took a seat where she could use him as a pillow.

    Max jumped out of his skin the first time she did this (he isn’t aware that Furiosa spent three days psyching herself up to be able to lean against him and fix a boot), but like…he’s good with it.  This is a kind of physical contact he is learning to be good with.  

    And of course, he tells Furiosa in his slow, quiet way, it’s his honor to be favored by the Imperator.

    Furiosa thumps him in the shin, but doesn’t get up.

    C: what is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict on friends

    It’s just so distressing to think about how Furiosa is almost certainly unconscious by the time Max tells her his name.  His most precious secret, given to this woman as a gift, and she…she doesn’t hear him.

    D:  what would never work with canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway

    Max is an immortal fey avatar of the desert and Furiosa is becoming an immortal fey avatar of green places and they’re soulmates. It is what it is.

    Unrelatedly, I really like the idea that Furiosa, Imperatrix of the Immortan Joe, is a ‘blackthumb’ of far greater skill than Max, while Max is significantly better at sewing and clothing repair than she is.  Furiosa has to know every inch of the War Rig and that means that she HAS to help maintain it, and the War Rig is undoubtedly one of the most advanced pieces of machinery they’re working with.  Obviously when she’s driving it, she can’t do repairs, but Furiosa is an A-grade mechanic.  Max…just finds it kind of restful to do minute peaceful repetitive tasks like sewing, and, having done them A Lot to keep his clothes intact, he’s gotten pretty good.  Furiosa, on the other hand, has assembled her outfit in significant part out of the ruins of a wife’s outfit, all long strips of fabric wound and pinned in place, and more than that she holds status and doesn’t care for repetitive tasks.  She’s competent, but doesn’t care for it.

    readera asked: For the ask meme. I am surprised no one has said any animorphs yet. cassie. or any of the animorphs really. I'm not picky, lol.

    I raise you: a handful of mid-war Cassie/Jake headcanons because that’s what I have feelings about right now.  For this meme.

    A: what I think realistically

    Cassie isn’t oblivious to the toll the war is taking on Jake—far from it.  He shows up to her barn sometimes when he can’t sleep, sits in the hayloft or quietly organizes cabinets, and Cassie starts making sure to be the first one into the barn in case Jake’s fallen asleep there.  (One time she is unsuccessful about this and her dad wanders in to find Jake asleep in the hayloft—he scrambles and blurts out a blatant lie about having gotten in a fight with Tom the night before and Cassie tries really hard not to cover her face because.  It’s a mess. Jake is a passable liar by virtue of necessity, but he gets jumpy whenever he’s confronted by coming up with legitimate reasons to be at Cassie’s other than wanting to see Cassie.)  Sometimes, when Cassie can’t sleep either, she wanders out to the barn herself—if Jake happens to be there, conveniently available for company and quiet conversation about dreams and nightmares, that’s nothing more than a coincidence.

    B: what I think is fucking hilarious

    Cassie is largely unaware of the fact that she’s viewed with a high degree of bitter, bitter jealousy by a lot of the other girls at her school and not a few of the boys.  Jake is a good-looking, level-headed, friendly person, who is widely known at the school as a Catch.  This is somehow made more of a thing due to the fact that he just.  Doesn’t notice.  (This is canon, don’t even fight me on this, three girls ask him to that dance in book 29.)  Jake smiles at Cassie and talks with her in the halls and doesn’t even pick up on other people hitting on him, and therefore several of those people are deeply frustrated.  It’s made worse because what are they going to do about it. Cassie is an angel, it’s not like they can even really hate her for it, and even if they did, God help the person who decides to fuck with Rachel’s best friend.

    Incidentally, no one is more frustrated with Cassie and Jake than Rachel. Guys!  Go on a date!  Watch a movie!  Hell, just get together at someone’s house and cuddle!  G O D.  She literally cannot believe how unsmooth Jake is, it causes her physical pain, and Cassie, sweetie, hold his hand, do it for Rachel, she is dating a bird and she is having more success than these idiots.

    She despairs of them, she really does.

    C: what is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict on friends

    Cassie and her mother used to be really close—like, they told each other everything. It kills Cassie to lie to her, constantly, incessantly, unavoidably, for three years.  Cassie screams in her sleep, and she tells her mother nothing.  Cassie cries for three days, and she tells her mother nothing. Cassie develops an overwhelming phobia of termites, and she tells her mother nothing.

    She wants so much to be able to tell her mother the truth about just one thing, and so when her mother asks if she can ask about Jake—hesitantly, because Cassie is so withdrawn these days—Cassie barley even pauses to feel embarrassed.

    “Of course!” Cassie blurts, and her mother smiles a little, almost shy.

    “Well,” she says, sitting down beside Cassie, “are you two dating?”

    “Um…sort of,” Cassie says uncertainly.  What does one even call her relationship with Jake these days?  On the one hand, no, they don’t exactly go on dates that much, despite Rachel’s best efforts, and there’s still that level of mild discomfort with, like, the concept of being a couple, but on the other hand…they’re so far past dating it’s not even funny.  

    “Sort of?” her mother laughs, amused.  “Well, have you kissed him?”

    Cassie feels herself blush and opens her mouth to say yes—but stops.  If she says yes, her mother will want to know when and how and…and Cassie can’t tell her. Can’t say yes, we kissed on another world.  Can’t say yes, and I cried into his shoulder because I thought he was dead.  Can’t say yes, I kissed him because we were facing death and I was afraid I’d never get the chance again.

    Honestly, she can’t say yes at all.

    So she looks away and says, “No.”

    D:  what would never work with canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway

    Right so it’s technically post war but THIS FIC.  Canon ending can suck a dick.

    Also, give me an AU where everything is fine and Cassie is a morph dancer who performs on street corners like a busker (she’s the equivalent of a Julliard-trained violinist whose day job pays well and who plays in subways for fun) and Jake sees her transforming into an osprey and falls in love on the spot.

    Anonymous asked: For the headcanon meme Uhura?

    For THIS headcanon meme!  (You thought you were free.  You were wrong.)  I’m kind of picturing AOS because that’s what I watched most recently with Uhura.

    A: what I think realistically

    Nyota Uhura grows up speaking three languages fluently—English and Swahili, because her family speaks both, and a German dialect, because her cousin’s husband speaks Swahili like a three-year-old and doesn’t seem to be getting better at it.  He dotes on Nyota, calls her little star and swings her up onto his shoulders to ‘scare’ his wife and Nyota’s mothers as a monster with two heads, and he thinks it’s the greatest thing in history when she starts translating for him.  She’s six years old when she goes to a museum and meets the curator, who is a Vulcan woman of superlative brilliance.  The woman greets her family with a formal Vulcan phrase and is visibly taken aback—something of an accomplishment—when Nyota carefully, cautiously sounds out in imitation, tonk’peh, dif-tor heh smusma.

    “Very good,” the Vulcan woman says in English, arching an eyebrow.  “But the correct response is sochya eh dif.”  Nyota parrots it back, and the Vulcan woman offers her a salute.  Nyota comes back the very next day and plunks herself expectantly in front of the woman’s door, and more or less bothers the woman into agreeing to teach her the language.

    Nyota, talking to her teacher, learns about Star Fleet, where she can learn every language in the galaxy (“that is quite impossible–”  “EVERY language in the galaxy,” Nyota insists) and spend her entire life speaking them as a job.  She never looks away from the stars again, and she remains in touch with her teacher, until finally it’s Nyota who offers the lessons, in the grammar of Russian and the guttural tones of Klingon.

    Nyota’s teacher, very formal at all times, is the one who begins calling her ‘Uhura.’  Nyota knows that her name means star, but to her, Uhura means linguist and she holds it tight with both hands.

    B: what I think is fucking hilarious

    Uhura and Jim are actually great friends by the end of the Enterprise’s first year, once he feels less like he has to prove himself at all times and once she gets past some of her ingrained horror about his casual disregard for the rules when he thinks it’s necessary.  (The first time Uhura sees herself observe a rule and then toss it aside because, well, this is more important, she has this moment of total exasperation because He Has Infected Her.)  Jim speaks not a few languages himself, and more to the point he’s actually not the trash can she assumed him to be.  He doesn’t harass his subordinates, he would clearly die for any of them, and even though at first she’s convinced he’s going to drink on the job and sleep with everyone on the ship, there’s no sign of it.  He drinks sometimes with the rest of the alpha shift command crew, but never to excess, and she’s pretty sure Jim would rather take a phaser shot to the chest than risk his crew by sleeping around—it’s like command has turned him into a real person rather than the caricature he worked so hard to project and goddamnit she likes that person.  No one is more shocked and aggrieved than Uhura herself.

    Uhura is also rational enough to date a Vulcan, so after two months she huffs out a breath and plops her tray down at his table during breakfast (Jim eats in the mess hall with the crew, rather than a private mess, because he likes to know his people, damn him).  She has the same stubborn look in her eye that once strongarmed a Vulcan into agreeing to teach her language to a small human child.

    “Um,” Jim says, wary, “hey, Uhura.”

    “You’re going to stop hitting on me,” she tells him, pointing at him sternly with her fork, “and I’m going to stop treating you like an asshole, and then we’re going to be friends.”

    Jim stares at her.  “Okay?”

    “So,” she says, lowering her fork to gesture at his PADD, “what are you reading?” He tells her, seemingly too bemused to do anything else, and she scoffs.  “Please.  If you want the really weird Vulcan literature, I can hook you up.  You haven’t lived until you’ve read some of the Pre-Reform homoerotic star-crossed lovers nonsense I read during my tutorial on the Pre-Reform dialect.”

    Jim laughs until he’s wheezing and flushed, clutching the edge of the table as the mess hall looks at him in mild alarm and Uhura smirks in satisfaction.

    C: what is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict on friends

    Uhura never becomes a captain, although innumerable promotions are offered to her. She loves her languages too much. She believes, after seeing Kirk and Sulu and even sweet Chekov taken by their ships and never return, that this is the reason she and Spock end up as the last living members of that first bridge crew.

    She kind of wishes, sitting at the monument to James Tiberius Kirk and thinking about how he would have hated having his middle name on the thing, that she had taken the captaincy.

    D:  what would never work with canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway

    LET!  NYOTA! UHURA!  HAVE!  A! BIG!  FAMILY!

    Listen I literally could not care less about what canon says, Nyota has like three siblings and a bunch of cousins and her grandmother and her two moms and her aunts and uncles and they all adore each other to little bits and pieces.  

    Nyota’s sister is dying to know about Spock from the first moment she hears about him, and the poor guy is totally overwhelmed the first time Nyota brings him home to celebrate [insert slightly ridiculous reason that the family came up with on the spot because Nyota was on Earth and they were excited].  They immediately adopt Spock, he’s really kind of alarmed about it.  

    Nyota brings Jim to meet her family one time too (and McCoy because his wife has his kid currently) when it’s his birthday and he just desperately does not want to deal with Star Fleet and the Kelvin and the whole hero thing, and they all love him too.  

    Basically give me Nyota Uhura who travels the stars because she loves them too much to stay on the ground, but who has very real ties to Earth because those are her people.  She’s met by the quintessential embarrassing family whenever they make earthfall.  Her cousin (the one who still sucks at Swahili) has a sign. Her sister and her twin brothers have a banner.  She’s going to murder them all but also she can’t stop grinning.

    Anonymous asked: woo! update! i'm the one who sent in that ask (or as least a very similarly worded ask) but i didn't think you'd get around to answering it, so i'm super glad you did

    Hey, I’m so glad you liked it!  I’m sorry it was…like…a million years late, but I swear to God I really am still working on that series, I’m just trying to write Too Many Fics at once right now.