#Words Hard lmao

[orcelito]

would i spent over a hundred dollars on a reference pic for my fanfic?

yes.

[pimsri]

Happy Valentine's <3

[meamiiikiii]

silly comic based on a time i struggled to read live on stream :thumbsup:

context clip compilation below ASDASDFASA

(cw for brief mention of hospitals/strokes)

[steddieonbigboy]

Sleepwalkin'

written for @steddiemicrofic april prompt ‘fool’ wc: 454 | rated: T | cw: implied sexual content | read on ao3

🛌🛌🛌

Eddie stirs at the sound of shuffling footsteps and gets jolted awake as Steve drops face-first onto the bed.

"Mhmph. Where've you been?"

"Sleepwalkin'."

"Do anything fun?"

"I got into bed with Wayne." He mumbles into the pillow.

"Wait. What?!" Eddie sits up with a crazed grin, suddenly wide awake, "Steve, sweetheart, that's fucking hilarious."

"Yeah, Wayne thought so too," He rolls onto his side to face Eddie," I, on the other hand, am slightly mortified."

"Baby, I'm sorry but that is actually so funny. What did he say when he woke you up?"

"That's the thing! He didn't! So I obviously woke him up when I, y'know crawled into his bed and cuddled up to him-"

"You cuddled him?! Stevie, be careful, that's the most action he's gotten in years, he's gonna fall in love with you!"

"Fuck off," He reaches across to slap Eddie's shoulder, "Anyway, he just left me to sleep! I woke up to him snoring with his arm around me, and I was so fucking confused."

"How long were you there? I woke up earlier and you were gone but I just thought you were in the bathroom or something. Didn’t realise you’d deserted me."

"Probably like half the fucking night. I went back to sleep after I’d woken up because his bed’s comfier than yours. I only came back in because he went to work and I got cold."

"Is a bed warmer all I am to you, Stevie?" Eddie pouted, "I thought you loved me for my wit and charm and dashingly good looks, not because I keep you toasty."

"I love you for many reasons, including how warm you run, but if you don't like it," Steve shrugged, "I guess I'll have to go to Wayne next time I'm cold. I'm sure he'll warm me up."

"Please don't leave me for my Uncle."

"Well, you better give me a good reason to stay then."

"Nobody can go down on you as well as I can."

"Oh really? Might have to let you prove that you’re the best then."

Eddie just smirks as he slides down the bed.

—

Wayne’s just gotten home from work when Eddie clears his throat and nudges Steve in the ribs.

"Stevie. Don’t you have something to say to Wayne?"

"Huh? Oh, right," Steve looks at Wayne as sincerely as he can possibly manage right now, "I’m so sorry, Wayne, but we were fools to think it’d work out between us. I’ll never forget our wonderful night together though."

"Well shucks, son, you’re breakin’ my dang heart here but I guess I just gotta move on," Wayne gives Steve a wink, "You know where to find me if you change ya mind."

[qiinamii]

old men's little guys

[arainaizevran]

list of wyll feedback/bugs

epilogue:

no hugs and kisses in the epilogue

wyll doesn't have specific lines for other companions being romanced in multiplayer (ie, when shadowheart is romanced by lae'zel origin, she has specific lines for that. wyll doesn't, except for a romanced illithid tav/origin.)

in blade of frontiers wyll ending, romanced tav/durge can go with wyll to avernus and hunt down mizora, but in the epilogue, wyll makes no mention of their adventures in avernus (my character is dressed in avernus armour but wyll isn't)

ulder and mizora don't have letters addressing wyll

in ulder's letter to the player, he makes no mention of a potential engagement/marriage with wyll

romance:

only one romance greeting, and only triggered in act 3. often bugged

no kiss greetings before/after

ulder and mizora have no reaction to a potential engagement/break up with wyll

there's no introduction to ulder and mizora as wyll's lover/partner

wyll's kisses and dialogue in the morphic pool area aren't repeatable

bugged act 3 romance scene for tall/dragonborn models

act 3 romance scene triggers upon talking to him in camp and doesn't start after long resting - unlike other companions and literally every other romance scene. the scene ends in camp again which is really awkward

general:

wyll's major choice re: his pact and his father in act 3 is something the player makes for him - unlike other companions whose choice hinges on a skill check or previous actions in the game

origin wyll's nightmare on the first long rest is only narrated, whereas a different origin has a fully animated nightmare sequence

wyll/lae'zel flirt banter was removed without adding a potential replacement for it - hence taking out more content for the companion who already has it the least

a lot of wyll's dialogue in early access still fit current wyll's character so there's no reason to not include those, or rework them at the very least to make up for the large disparity in content (this one's my personal opinion only, though i have no doubt some of you feel the same way)

here are just some of the feedbacks/bugs that wyll has if you wanna send feedback to larian. feel free to rb and/or add your own to the list

[emil1863]

Playing around with a concept. Might write a fic for it later...

[bacchuschucklefuck]

okay unironically I love so much that porter is like this world SUCKS its BAD here and it HURTS you why do you care abt it!!! and literally every single bad kid is like ngl we just hate ur ass it does not matter what ur philosophy is

[hotelstares]

[faiell]

favour

for @drarrymicrofic, G, 900 words

Malfoy isn’t expecting anyone. He's hunched over his work with elbows like two knife points stabbed into the desk, one hand threading through his soft downy hair and the other fidgeting on his face, knuckle running back and forth against his bottom lip. The yellow light from his lamp flickers temperamentally, barely able to offer anything other than a glow on Malfoy's cheek. Malfoy squints at the cascade of parchment before him, then pushes his fingers against his eyes. He inhales, slow. Blinks his eyes back open, exhales.

Harry's been standing there a while. "Sorry to interrupt," he says.

Malfoy's mouth parts in surprise. It takes a moment before he registers that Harry is a very real thing, and not some conjured spectre. Then every part of him straightens into place. The papers flutter as he sweeps them back into their folders, snapping the covers shut—away from Harry's prying eyes, presumably.

"What are you doing here?" There's none of the usual bite to it, not when the small hours have got Malfoy whittled down like this. He looks feather-light, blurred to softness in the midnight blues and greys.

Harry approaches the desk and sets down his peace offering. It's Muggle coffee in a nondescript paper cup--Malfoy's favourite order from his favourite café, though he doesn't know it yet.

"My shift just started," he offers, which explains nothing at all. He sees Malfoy beginning to think through it, mouth and brow curving towards each other. "Picked this up for you on the way."

Malfoy’s expression of bafflement is delightfully wide-eyed. All of his usual mechanisms don't seem to be working. Harry keeps expecting a switch to flip, for Malfoy to shore up and retreat into icy waters, but it doesn't come. Instead his pale hands reach for the cup and cradle it, fingers skittering against the paper texture, thumbnail underlining the scrawl of 'Harry' on the side. The steam tickles his chin. With the coffee clutched close to him, Malfoy speaks, voice flaky and uncertain, "I can't accept this."

"Don't be daft," Harry insists. "It's two in the morning, take it."

Malfoy's frown grows deeper as he contemplates this additional fact. "There's nothing open this late."

It's true. Harry's kept that coffee under a stasis charm for twelve hours now. "I got it for Ron, but he's not in today," he amends, and gestures with the cup in his other hand, "Got myself one too."

Malfoy wants the coffee, craves it badly. Harry can see it in the way that he holds the warmth of it towards himself, shoulders drooping as he savours the rich chocolatey aroma. He's about to give into it, has brought the coffee all the way up to his mouth when he stops, eyes trained on Harry, glinting like burnished steel. "You must want something from me."

Harry shrugs, nonchalance teetering on his shoulder. He takes a sip of his own, lets it sit bittersweet on his tongue before swallowing it down. Malfoy's gaze slides from his mouth and catches on his throat, before it scuttles back to his own hands again.

"No, I don’t. You don't have to overthink it, Malfoy. It's just a favour."

The word holds more tension than it should. Harry knows Malfoy hates owing him, and that's why he's gone to all this trouble, cajoled him so carefully. He’s been at it for weeks now, first out of kindness, then out of spite, and now because…—well, because he’s tenacious, probably. The room slips into silence as Malfoy considers, until both of them become invisible and there’s just the coffee on the desk, lit up by weak lamplight. 

Harry’s so hopeful he forgets to breathe. His pulse climbs from his chest up to his head until it’s deafening. He’s sure he’s about to burst when, abruptly, Malfoy gives in with a little jerk of his shoulders, the scarcest of shrugs. He drinks. His lips wrap around the plastic and he tilts it back, slow and delicate, taking the shallowest sip.

Malfoy's eyes widen just a fraction when he recognizes the flavour of it. His tongue works inside his mouth as he rolls the taste around, once, twice, and again, just to be sure. A small, pleased sound comes out then, and before Harry can even register what that means, Malfoy brings the cup to his mouth again and takes three big gulps.

He sighs, eyes closed, contentment chasing away the shadows dragging at his face, and suddenly he’s years younger. There's cream on his upper lip. Harry is transfixed. The flickering lamp grows a bit brighter, buoyed by Malfoy's magic and finally illuminating the workstation properly, bathing his washed-out figure in warm hues.

"Well thanks," Malfoy says, smirking, because that's what he does instead of smiling. A pointed tongue darts out to catch some cream, missing most of it. "You should probably go, Potter. You don't even work on this floor."

[linterteatime]

It's 7000+ people that want them dead actually

[bathroom-sand]

the public response to neil gaiman being accused by several women of sexual assault is exactly why victims often struggle to come forward. like how is anyone gonna give the benefit of the doubt to a guy claiming one of his victims has “false memories” as if that isn’t the type of stupid ass rebuttal only a science fiction writer could come up with. 20 year olds don’t create false memories, neil, that’s pseudo science.

[ragnarokhound]

Trick or Treat! Thank you for sharing all your wonderful writing!!

Happy Halloween! Thank you so much for reading, I'm so happy you've enjoyed! <3 (holds jaytim up like the potato: i just think they're neat)

Okay this response got long so it's going under a cut, haha, enjoy!!

The curse is cruel. "You really think that you're a better Robin?" Jason sneers. His blood coats Jason's fist. "A better Robin?" Tim echoes through bloody teeth.

"That's what I said, pretender. Haven't you got any words of your own? You have to steal those from me too?" "Steal? From me too?" He gasps. The questions burn his mouth like acid, frustration and rage held prisoner by his traitorous tongue. Jason's brow furrows, then smooths in the space of an instant. "Pathetic," Jason taunts, abandoning confusion for disgust and disappointment. In a sharp, painful crack of his fist, the world goes black before Tim can agree. *** "How long has it been?" Jason says. It's been years. Smoke curls between the gaps in his cupped hands as the brief burst of flame dies to an ember, glowing vermillion at the end of his cigarette. "Long," Tim answers with a sigh. He can't even sign his own words, his hands always twisting into shapes first held by someone else's mouth. By the last person who spoke to him. The railing of the fire escape is icy beneath his elbows. He should have worn a thicker jacket, but he didn't have time tonight. Jason is leaving in the morning, and Tim wanted to see him before he goes. This new thing between them, this friendship on the cusp of something else— is fragile and hard-won. Tim wants to nurture it, to see if the warmth roiling under the surface can be coaxed to blazing life. Jason shuts his lighter with a snap. His shoulder is warm against Tim's. Tim watches him breathe in poison, and envies the poison. "And no one's figured it out? Who did this to you?" Tim rolls his eyes. "Figured it out," he restates flatly. Of course he knows who did this to him. Of course Bruce and the rest know. The who was easy. Fae and demons aren't subtle, and they aren't exactly commonplace. It makes for a short list to dig through. Jason grins, cherry-red and laughing at him. "Right, right. I mean, you ever figure out how to fix it? How to get your own words back? Yes or no," he tacks on helpfully. Only seldom does Jason remember to do that, to give Tim more options to choose from. It's not that he doesn't care, or that he isn't careful with his words. He just doesn't have to be. He's always had a knack for guessing what Tim means on the first try. Now that he isn't trying to punish Tim for using Jason's words like their his own. Like what he'd done with Robin.

Tim used to resent it, that of all the people in the world to guess what he's feeling, Jason Todd could do it best. Used to. Tim looks away. "Fix it," he murmurs. "Yes." Not that it matters. Jason cocks his head. His cigarette burns between his fingers, half-forgotten. "Why the fuck haven't you, then? If it were me—" Jason cuts himself off with a self-conscious laugh. "Ah, forget it. I'm sure you'd love to if you could, right?" Tim's eyes go wide. Jason's never said that to him before. One word of three that make the key. Tim knows what he feels. He knows how to break it. "And give the son of a bitch responsible a kiss in the teeth for good measure," Jason continues, oblivious to the effect of his words. Tim seizes Jason's arm, ignoring how he flinches. Hope is fleeting enough as it is. "Wha—" "Love to," Tim interrupts, urgent, heart tripping in his chest. "You..." He swallows, his throat closing up, not sure if he can say the last word. Not because of any curse, but because it's— it's too much. It's too bold. It won't work. So why not try? Jason stares at him, waiting for him to speak. "...kiss," he whispers. Tim begs him to understand. Jason raises his eyebrows. "...kiss?" Jason echoes softly, his voice thick. He cups the back of Tim's head in his free hand. "You want to kiss me, babybird?" He's relaxed a fraction, and Tim can tell he still doesn't get it. The one time he doesn't understand the full depth of Tim's meaning, and it had to be now. "Well, why didn't you say so?" Before Tim can express just how unimpressed he is by— Jason kisses him. He tastes like smoke and a hint of mint, and like skin and teeth and tongue. He licks into Tim's mouth when he gasps, and swallows every sound he makes. Like it's not enough to own Tim's words; he needs to own the rest of him as well. Tim doesn't even know if it will work. What makes a love true, anyway? When you've bled and fought for it, tooth and nail? When you didn't even want it at first, but you know, like it was inevitable, that you can't live anymore without it squeezing your heart in its fist? When magic cannot bind you anymore, because you don't belong wholly to yourself alone. When you've chosen to be beholden. When it was never a choice at all. The autumn air is freezing, but Jason's hands are searing hot on Tim's face, burning his cheeks with the shape of his fingers. Tim doesn't remember tucking his hands under Jason's jacket, or finding the broad stretch of his shoulderblades with his palms. But when he grazes the skin at the back of his neck, just above Jason's shirt collar, he shivers in Tim's grip. Jason pulls away abruptly, and Tim protests. "Do you want—" Jason started to ask. "Jason," Tim huffs, breathless. "Why'd you stop?" It rings in the air between them, clear as a bell. They both freeze. "...Tim?" Jason asks slowly. "Did you just—" "Jason," Tim says again, disbelieving. Then wondering. It's the first word that's belonged solely to him in years. The first word that's his. "Jason."

(For the trick or treat ask game! Send me a trick or treat ask and I'll share jaytim WIP snippets, or new 3-sentence -paragraph fics, etc :^) through the 31st!)

[tastetheblame]

a few months back I found out that lazy town was created by the actor of sportacus to spread the message of fitness and healty living to children which i think is lovely. i'm just in tears because i checked that there are over 1k of sportacus/robbie rotten fics on ao3 and i'm sure that wasn't part of the original plan.

[night-triumphantt]

I,,,, have @infamous-if brain rot so I threw another blorbo in there

Edit: here have some close ups bc tumblr destroyed the quality tf

[hg-aneh]

Hourglass Crowley and Beanbag Aziraphale my beloved

HIS WAIST IS S N A T C H E D