#I don’t even know what to write

[tangylemonade]

Ayo don’t have to shoot me like this

reblog if ur currently scrolling tumblr to procrastinate writing ur fanfic

[doctorsiren]

give this angle another tri

[mochiwrites]

It’s dark out.

Moonlight casts a softness over the server that isn’t there during the chaos of the day, creating something uncanny and uncomfortable for a game such as this one; softness. It’s not something that lasts, not something that comes naturally here. And yet the moon remains with its soft glow, gentle light sitting around them all like a blanket.

It’s dark out, and it’s hard to see.

It’s just Skizz and him now, their third no longer tied to this Hell. Grian is stuck between jealousy and relief. There is no break for someone like him, no reprieve or rest. The pain of it all doesn’t stop when his lives run out, when he leaves this place—it only continues. It wraps around him, sinks into his skin, his heart. It digs its claws so deep in him that it leaves a permanent mark on his memory. He’s unable to forget any of it.

He has to tiptoe around Skizz when leaving, avoiding stepping on the arm the guy has thrown out to the side of his body. His loud snores grate on Grian’s sensitive ears, and the quicker he escapes the better. He tucks his wings in close as he climbs the bridges, Mumbo’s ecstatic voice ringing loud in his ears with each creak of wood under his feet. Grian holds onto the railings, but his grip is weak, loose.

He doesn’t need to ask himself where he’s going, or even think about it, really.

When he reaches the last of their bridges, he heads up the mountain. It almost feels familiar, like he’s done it one, two, three times before. Cherry blossoms drift to the ground around him, uncaring of the somber air that Grian carries with him. He almost wants to stop and shout at them, can’t you read the room? I lost my best friend today! But he doesn’t. He ignores the tranquility of the petals, ignores how he squishes some under his feet.

Some chests come into view, right at the center of the mountain. He passes by the three parrots, some bit of him happy to see them untouched. He’d have to fix them up himself if they were damaged (and knowing looks would be sent his way the following morning).

He knows he shouldn’t be surprised that no real infrastructure is up here. No base for safety from the night, a small farm or two. At least he’s learned to put torches down to ward off mobs.

Grian moves closer to the center, finding no one else around. Lizzie probably went off to see Joel, and Jimmy… who knows with him, really. That doesn’t matter much to Grian, not in this world where his brother is dead to him.

His eyes roam over to a pink bed, and ah.

Scar is awake, as if he were waiting for him.

Grian’s feathers ruffle slightly as he avoids making a big deal out of it, stalking toward him. The scarred man doesn’t say anything, simply scoots over some to make some room. Grian is quiet as he pulls the blanket back, sliding into place. In this world, he hates how perfectly he fits with Scar. It makes it hard to hate him, to commit to being enemies with him. How is it that Grian can so easily promise his own flesh and blood that he’ll kill him until he’s out of the game—but he can’t keep to being enemies with Scar for more than a session, if that?

It’d be… so much easier if Grian could just hate Scar. If he could kill him without mercy like he does with everyone else and go back to a world where hating Scar is never a need nor an option.

It’d be safer, if Scar hated him too.

(It would’ve been safer for Mumbo, too.)

Rough fingers card through his hair kindly. Grian burns. Something primal and angry and hurt claws at his chest. He lashes out much like a wild animal would, despite having sought Scar out on his own. “I hate you,” he tries to say, tries to keep any emotion out of his voice, tries to mean it.

(He couldn’t help Mumbo. But maybe here—)

Scar’s gaze softens, lacking any hurt. It only serves to frustrate Grian further. “You don’t.” He sounds so confident, so certain of it, like it’s some kind of universal truth that everyone has accepted except for Grian. “I don’t think you could hate me if you tried.” He’s smug.

“I can, and I do,” Grian argues with him, glaring.

“Mhm, and that’s why we’re best friends, huh?” Scar lifts a brow. “Why you gave me the mace and only wanted to ally with ol’ Scar instead of the Bamboozlers. Or why you’re here in my bed, gripping me like I’ll poof.”

“It was an underhanded kill.” Stop looking at me. “I would’ve done that with anyone.” Stop knowing me. “Your bed is the closest.”

Scar’s fingers in his hair don’t stop, soothing and gentle. It feels wrong. “But you didn’t. You wouldn’t have if it was TJ or Pearl.” His lips curl with amusement, “You can’t fool me with any of that.”

Grian doesn’t answer, and Scar doesn’t push.

Instead, he’s tentatively pulled closer, an arm sliding over his waist. It feels so familiar, in a different home, in a tower. Grian can almost imagine the sound of a llama bleating nearby. He huffs some frustrated noise, and lets the familiarity tug him in. He selfishly takes the comfort Scar gives him, as if they hadn’t been at each other’s throats just a few days ago. But Grian is selfish, and he takes what he wants. Scar is selfless, and is happy to give whatever Grian needs.

He exhales silently, right against Scar’s buttoned shirt. He doesn’t speak, so Scar does it for him, giving him an out. He always gives Grian some kind of door. “I put you back to 100/100 reputation with us.”

Grian can’t help but snort. “Did you put the heart back too?” Contradiction after contradiction.

“Oh, that was only for your name. No offense to Skizz but he and I aren’t like that.” Scar’s hand drifts down to the middle of Grian’s back, right between his wings. “I’ll show it to you tomorrow.”

“You probably shouldn’t,” Grian huffs, “might just explode it again if you kill me.”

“Probably. I’ll show it to you anyway.”

Grian rolls his eyes in return. “Better not betray me again then.” It wouldn’t be Scar who does it.

Scar’s eyes hold understanding. Grian almost wants to reach in and tear it out, replace it with the hatred he wants Scar to feel instead. He only digs his fingers into Scar’s shirt. “I’d be a fool to betray you after getting you back today.”

After getting you back.

Grian should be the one saying that. “Whatever,” he mumbles in return. He clings to Scar, allows himself that small mercy, that small kindness. Lips brush his hair.

“Sleep well, G.”

Neither of them say anything more.

[bottombaron]

oh ok so its the usual no-homo bullshit you always hear, good to know.

[otaku553]

Haha

[dipperscavern]

this post just has me thinking. frigging thinking yo || jon snow x gn!reader

about how jon doesn’t like his scars. none of them that he carries are granted any sort of gift of his approval; the ones on his torso are no exception. some think them a sign of strength, of perseverance — to jon, however, the torn flesh is something to which he bears no love for.

but he harbors a special dislike for those on his face. the memory of a light scar on his brow, given to him by robb during training in their youth, is now largely overshadowed by a petulant abhor of a time when wildling apparel clothed his body. kissed by fire.

the words ring true enough, producing the same effect each time they reverberate throughout his (never silent) skull. a pause in his ministrations — a distant look in his eyes.

sometimes he must wait for it to pass. others, he merely falters in his movements, and claws his way back to normalcy with a slight lag & brows that become pinched in their determination.

the scars always make him remember. whether it be the healing skin itching, or an unfortunate glance in the mirror, he always remembers. always falters.

but sometimes you’re there, and it feels oh, so much more bearable when you are. you and your sovereign hands.

your touch is soft when you cradle him, broken and repaired skin and jaded heart and all. in that very moment, it feels as though somehow you could make him as soft, too.

jons hate for the memories etched onto his skin fade with each pass of your fingertips across the jagged areas — for they must be good, if worthy enough to receive your attention. your lips are warm as they capture his temple; a place both marked by fury & somehow, also the most comforting when adored. a kiss is the briefest of moments, but oh, gods, how visceral his reaction is.

flutters of his lashes as they’re accompanied by closing eyelids; he’d not be able to open them if asked directly by the maiden herself. he’s always been stubborn, and his body seems to live by such a code with each decision it makes without him — retinas refusing to supply him with visual information when you’re touching him — no. his own vessel demands uninterrupted focus when cradled by your loving palms. it’s innate, the way he chooses to receive you.

the feeling of your lips as they kiss his hair; he’d live in this moment forever if given the option. he tries, oh, how he tries. he offers himself to you and slows his breathing to a snails pace, as if that’ll make time pass at the same speed.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

The “you know I left a part of my back in New York” to “I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath” pipeline—

Something about how New York symbolized freedom and rebirth and adulthood and the then-summit of her career until it crumbled and London became the at-first necessary retreat from the world when it got to be too much to bear.

And the part of herself she left in New York symbolically could have been the part of her that still craved the attention, the performing, the superstardom, that she felt like she had to abandon to live her life. Among all the other questions about “hoax” about a painful betrayal, the questioning in the bridge is like, I left this part of me behind to make this work and you knew what it cost me, but you still did what you did. So I gave up this part of my life to make a life with you, and in the end you still betrayed me and metaphorically (or actually) abandoned me along with it.

Again not saying this is right or that that’s what hoax is about but just noting an interesting thematic parallel etc.

[the-meme-monarch]

happy birthday to my friends and i’s knight chara and strange someone frisk aus/theories :]

hi for undertale reasons i don’t like any combination of shipping chara frisk and asriel. if you ship them go away 👍

[babycharmander]

Weird folks: Vent art of any form is good and all but it should ONLY be between you and your therapist. Don’t share that stuff online or publish it!!!

Me, an artist/writer: *goes to therapy, talks about my trauma and mental health and how sometimes it’s hard to talk about it with others*

Therapist: Have you thought about using your art and writing to help you work through these things and share them with others?

[pizzaqueen]

A snippet from a future fic I'll probably never write, where Steve is a widower with two teenage kids, and he and Eddie randomly meet up, rekindling their old flame. This is when they've been together a while:

“Thank you,” Steve says, coming up behind Eddie at the bathroom sink.

Eddie pauses, catching Steve's eye in the mirror. “What for?” he asks, mouth foamy with toothpaste.

Steve slips his hands along Eddie's hips, hooks his chin over Eddie's shoulder. “For loving my kids.”

“You don't—” Toothpaste dribbles down Eddie's chin and he stoops to spit what's left in his mouth into the sink, gathering his hair to one side. He rinses his mouth out, wipes his face with a towel, then turns to Steve. “You don't have to thank me for that. Of course I love them.”

“Not everyone I've dated has.”

“They're idiots.” Eddie grabs the hem of Steve's shirt, pulling him close. “I mean, first of all, they're part of you, and I don't think I could love you and not love them. But...” He trails off, a small smile tilting his lips. “They're amazing kids.”

Pride swells in Steve's chest; he slides his arms around Eddie's waist and says, “They are.”

“And I'm pretty damn honored I get to be part of their lives,” Eddie says, “so thank you,” and he butts his head gently against Steve's.

Steve huffs and slides his hands up Eddie's back, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I love you.” He presses a kiss to Eddie's neck.

“I love you too.”

“And they both love you as well.”

Eddie lets out a shuddering breath. Steve knows how nervous Eddie was, when they started dating, that he wouldn't be welcomed, but it's almost like he's always been part of their family now. “Good to know,"”Eddie says.

Steve holds Eddie a little tighter. All those years ago, back in Hawkins, when they ended things, Steve thought he'd never see Eddie again. But here they are, together—a family—and Steve's never letting him go this time.

[hi-there-buddies]

Me: I think I’ll draw a fun little scene from my Steven Universe inspired Transformers au. Nothing too big, just something fun

Also me: *cries*

I told myself I wouldn’t spend too long cleaning this up so forgive the messinESS

[dykedvonte]

Honestly a sorry from Curly would mean nothing to Anya.

I’m not saying she wouldn’t want to hear it, it’s a hollow vindication. She told him and he couldn’t hear her. He saw it and he couldn’t understand it. They both experienced it and he should apologize that it took that for him to get it. She already knows he’s sorry but what’s the point if neither of them can do anything about it? It’s earnest but at the same time what she wants an apology for is what Curlu can’t apologize for.

He can’t be sorry for what happened to her even if he is. Even if he carries that guilt with him until the day he dies it’s not all his to bare. The most heinous parts aren’t his weight even if he tries to balance it. A part of her bitterness is the fact he can’t be sorry for it all. She can’t just direct it all towards him even if she wants to. She was failed in so many ways by all of them. It hurts with him the most cause he had the power but they all did nothing in the grand scheme of things.

The one person who should apologize would never and could never, it’s not something you can be sorry for. She wants an apology, she needs one but what would it fix?

[iknowwhereyousnoozeatnight]

lawlight week day 2: soulmates

[lilianhuas]

i love three artistic gentlemen who made one of my most favourite films of all time Queer (2024): (Daniel Craig (William Lee), Director Luca Guadagnino, & Drew Starkey(Eugene Allerton))

[rhymeswithumbrella]

you know what really pisses me off? so many people acting like he is the worst person out there and no one will miss him. A LOT of people are grieving now and missing him including people that these people supposedly follow and care about. liam was not the supervillain people wanted him to be. he was messed up and did messed up things likely because of what happened to him. this conversation deserves so much more nuance than people are giving it. and maybe it’s too early to have this conversation now but it’s helping me process and grieve so i’m really writing this for me. people are complex and doing bad things doesn’t make you a bad person or someone worthy of death without being given the chance to make things right. and another thing, it is SO hypocritical to make fun of him and look down on him like he’s the ultimate Bad Guy meanwhile i bet every single person you have ever admired in the spotlight has likely also done bad things or at least things you wouldn’t be proud of. fame is an illness and it can cause people to harm others because they were hurt themselves. human beings are a culmination of everything that they’ve been through and everything they’ve done. he is not only the bad things he’s done and it’s okay and normal to grieve him as a whole person, because he was one.

[fistfuloflightning]

I am very curious about the bingfan wips if you don't mind me asking about them :)

By all means—I love gushing about these two idiots with you (and now that the SVSSS muse has returned from its unauthorized vacay I think there might be more down the line 😉 ) So thanks @pr0cyon-lotor for getting this jump started again!

The Hungry Ghost cafe wip is a modern au where high schooler LBH gets a job at a sketchy rundown restaurant that he learns caters to hungry ghosts in an effort to keep them satiated and away from living humans. Unfortunately one of his coworkers is Ming Fan, who sometimes bullies him in school but now is horrified that LBH now has something over him. But they’re forced to work together and slowly start to rely on each other and see each other in a different light. The restaurant is owned by married JiuYuan (ofc 😝), (…there’s a betting pool among the employees that one of them is a ghost but no one’s sure who). It’s kind of a slice of life type fic which is prob why it’s so disjointed and nowhere near publishing lol, it’s mostly a fun thing to play around with.

As for the BingFan teen parents fic… Pretty much what it says on the tin! On a mission, Ming Fan and Luo Binghe get caught in a patch of Airplane’s ubiquitous fuck-or-die flowers and end up having weirdly cathartic hatesex. Unbeknownst to them, the flowers share a symbiotic relationship with a special vine that always grows with it, which they only find out about after they’ve recovered…

He was still groggy from the forced sleep that had dragged him down, and he wanted to scour himself clean from the evidence of their… mishap. He glanced to the side to see if Luo Binghe was of the same mind, but he realized his shidi was not lying next to him. Luo Binghe was a few feet away, crouched over a patch of flattened, stained flora. Ming Fan realized belatedly why it looked that way and turned his head so his hair could hide his burning face. But Luo Binghe wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, he was making a concerning stuttering sound. Alarm lanced through Ming Fan. “What’s wrong?” he blurted, scrambling to his feet and darting to Luo Binghe’s side. The plant his shidi was hunched over was more of a thick net of vines twisted into one larger stem. And there was something moving in the tangled nest at the heart. Ming again frowned, wondering if his talismans were still in his ruined robes. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t. There was something… wrong. And then an infant’s cry shattered the pensive stillness. Ming Fan stared wide-eyed at the plant. “I recognize this vine,” Luo Binghe said slowly. “A couple who lived in the village I grew up in  were unable to have children.” Ming Fan was dreading where this was going. He flinched at another infantile cry and Luo Binghe began gingerly peeling the leaves away from the tangled nest of vines. “…They spent a night on the mountain and returned to the village the next morning with a baby of their own. Not one they had adopted or stolen, but their own flesh and blood. They said there was a plant that if two partners water it with their spend, it will grow a child.” Ming Fan pressed his eyes shut but that didn’t keep out the words. Fuck fuck fuck. Please let this plant be a man-eater that attracts prey with the sounds of a baby, he prayed. But the universe seemed to have it out for Ming Fan in particular, because Luo Binghe’s soft gasp was confirmation enough. Ming Fan’s eyes sprang open just in time for the last thin vine to be peeled away from the tiny, squirming body of a baby.

They bring it back to the sect and try to pass the baby off as an orphan to be raised by one of the other peaks but MQF recognizes a plant-baby when he sees one and gets excited about studying it (while also giving BingFan a crash course in parenting). SQQ is excited for a whole ‘nother reason: he’s shocked Ming Fan was the one to fall into that particular wife plot but is delighted to be a surrogate grandfather to the Protagonist’s first child, no matter how unorthodox.

They can’t live in the dorms with a baby so SQQ gives them an empty hallmaster’s house (marriages happen among disciples i.e. LBH/NYY in PIDW so it’s not that uncommon) Domesticity ensues.

Soon the entire sect knows Ming Fan and Luo Binghe had a child together despite them trying to keep it a secret and everyone the best congratulation gift is unsolicited advise from all Peaks.

It takes a sect to raise a child, and this one’s no different.