#Yes this is about that writing challenge

[bluerosefox]

Waiting... Waiting...

So... This was inspired by listening to EPIC (FREAKING LOVE ALL THE ALBUMS, SO GOOD) and by @noxcheshire post of Tim being Odysseus reincarnated and Danny (maybe also reincarnated) being his Penelope (Here) so I had to turn it into a Dead Tired idea.

The song The Challenge is the main one here. (Cause I LOVE that song... along with Would You Fall In Love With Me Again)

So WHAT IF Danny IS the reincarnated Penelope, after becoming the Ghost King Danny's memories of his past life as Penelope returns and remembers how before dying/ or being reincarnated both Penelope and Odysseus promised to find each other in their new lives, no matter who they are, what new form they take, they will find each other.

So Danny/Penelope, just like before waits for their Odysseus to return to them, but also tries to find him in their new life (CW is laughing whenever Danny asks for hints and gets a 'In due time, just wait' answer, ugh Danny wants to smack CW for that)

However just like in his previous life with being in a high position of power, Danny is being pressured to marry/take a spouse (now its not just men/males though so its a huge headache, I head canon Ghosts don't care much for gender preference) mostly by the dang eyeballs that Danny is still trying to find a way to get rid of without upsetting the Infinite Realms delicate (but slowly healing) balance even if Danny wanted nothing more than to punch all of the suitors out.

So Danny decides to play the long game again.

And waits for their Odysseus return.

Danny's wait is over when they suddenly feel the Realms shift one day, as if welcoming someone familiar home, and the same feeling Danny had when he had been Penelope and saw the storm that was sign of Odysseus coming home, Danny decides its time to bring out The Challenge once again. (CW gifted Danny a few things from his past as Penelope as a coronation gift, like Odysseus's bow (now enchanted to be unbreakable), a painting of when he was Penelope, with Telemchus, and Odysseus, and the Marriage Bed/Olive Tree, AND the Palace Odysseus made that Danny takes to being in over being at Pariah's Keep)

-x-x-

Meanwhile

Tim Drake, aka Red Robin, always had strange dreams as a child.

War, Death, Monsters, Gods, Goddesses.

His dreams were more like nightmares, haunting him and he sometimes woke up in cold sweat.

He hated storms. Hated being in the water for to long. Hated how he felt both tense but also at home when around Greek heroes, as if he was afraid to 'disrespect' them (Cassie was the only one he didn't feel that way around, mostly cause they had been somewhat friends before their heroing since their parents knew each other) but also knew how to appease them should he insult them. He also had a strange hatred for the CoO with a burning passion because he felt like they were mocking real Owls.

The worst part of nightmares that always pop up are of what feels like should be his home is being invaded by unwanted guests (they aren't guests), how they are angry over trying to string a bow and shot an arrow through axes, of the terrible terrible things he hear them saying they were going to do to his loved ones (two names that keep getting muted out).

How it ends in bloodshed with echoing of begging, pleading, mercy, and screams.

However in those nightmares at the end. He also finds himself looking for something in them.

Or rather he always found someone waiting for him at the end of the nightmares. Calling him by the wrong name but it sounds just right coming from them.

The dream always ends with the person asking 'How long has it been?' and before he can answer he wakes up.

So yeah Tim has horrifying nightmares/dreams he could never explain.

And the urge to find someone. To go home to them.

It isn't until he and his friends from Young Justice are hit by a spell from Klarion (who may or may not had a visit from a certain chaos encouraging Time Keeper) and sent to a place called the Infinite Realms in the middle of their fight, that Tim is hit hard with déjà vu when he spots a certain Palace in the distance and overhears some of the 'people?' (they glow and float and some don't even look human?! where are they?) talk about how the 'King' has issued a new 'Challenge' for his 'suitors'.

A Challenge involving a bow, and axes.

And Tim, feels like he knows this all too well and needs to do it.

[saintzweig]

patrick is into dacryphilia btw, like he makes it his mission to fuck you until you're a sobbing mess. and as fucked up as it sounds, it turns him on incredibly when you're all upset and pretty much begging him to do something and take your mind off whatever it is that's stressing you out. he has absolutely no reason to decline.

so now you're laid face down on the bed, staining the sheets with your tears and drool as he pushes into you repeatedly, his tip hitting your spot over and over again turning you into a sobbing, whining mess. and he's grunting into your ear, his lips ghosting over your skin. "i know, pretty girl. just a little bit more, hm? i know daddy's big, it's g'na be all over soon"

[ervotica]

art donaldson whines when he cums i just know it

[jon-sedai]

And remember kids, the next time someone tells you, "George R. R. Martin wouldn't make Jon Snow the typical fantasy hero because that's cliche".....

Oh yes he would!

One viewer wants to know what character would you play (on the show)? GRRM: If I could magically clap my hands and become a different person, it would be cool to play Jon Snow who's much more of the classic hero. Everybody wants to be the classic hero! ABC Interview, 2014

GRRM: And the character I’d want to be? Well who wouldn’t want to be Jon Snow — the brooding, Byronic, romantic hero whom all the girls love. Meduza Interview, 2017

In fact he already has ☺️

[dream-a-dream-for-me]

Clicker training puppy!Art has been the only thing revolving in my mind rn, so i treat you all to this

He felt so humiliated and exposed when you two first tried it. Looking up at you with those cute puppy ears, the headband covered by his hair, the puppy tail plug resting on the floor as he kneels. his wet pink tongue lolling out, beginning to drool while his arms bend at the elbow, fingers curling, wrist bent as though he were begging like the good dumb bitch he is. to top it all off, a collar is wrapped around his pale throat with a little gold tag that hangs down, reading "property of" with your name centered in capitalized bold letters under it.

"Who's a good boyyy?" You tease in an extremely condescending tone, exactly like you were talking to an actual dog. as much as he hates to admit it, his cock does kick, starting to grow half hard as he blushes in embarrassment, turning his head to break eye contact with you. Clicking your tongue, you grab his chin with two fingers, forcing him to look at you. 

"Look at me, and answer, mutt. Are you a good boy?" Your tone is soft, but he knows you're dead serious, "Speak, puppy, speak!" You encourage, grinning down at him. He moves his head forward slightly before letting out a tiny bark and his blush some how deepens.

Immediately you praise him, pushing the button on the clicker a few times, making sure he hears it before you give him his reward. "That's right, baby! You're such a good, good, dog! I think, for listening so well, you should get a treat. Don't you agree?" 

Again, he barks softly and you pet his head, scratching his scalp lightly before spreading your legs, letting him get a perfect view of your soaking cunt. He stares at your pussy, drool falling from the tip of his tongue and onto his chest, but he doesn't notice, too enthralled with your body. he rips his eyes away from your core, looking up at you expectantly, it takes a begging whine from him for you to realize what he's waiting for. Your permission. 

Grinning at how well you've trained him, you nod "Go ahead, Art, it's your treat." the second those words escape your lips he drops his hands down to the floor instead of gripping your thighs to keep himself stable, knowing he hasn't earned the right to touch you yet. then, he buries his face in between your thighs, lapping at your pretty cunt, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it. Anything that will give you pleasure. 

Burying his tongue deep in your cunt, his eyes hazy and unfocused, the only thing on his mind right now is making you cum. god, he lets out the sweetest whimpers when you pull his hair, his tongue working faster around your clit, needing you to use him. when you're about to cum, you click your tongue against your teeth twice, just as you'd do to get any dog's attention. His eyes flick up and catch sight of the clicker held up in your hand, immediately moaning into your pussy like an absolute slut. "Mhm, that's right sweetheart, m'gonna cum and you can lap it allll up!" he whines again, eyes wide with excitement. If he had a tail it'd be a blur with how fast it'd be wagging. 

Yanking his hair and grinding against his face as you cum, clicking the button three times again next to him, needing that noise to be ingrained in his mind. like a good boy, he doesn't waste a drop<3 

He doesn't stop until you pull him away, even then he tries to lick your cum off of his own face. "go on puppy, use your paws" he cocks his head to the side, confused for a second before he understands. wiping at his face with the back of his hand before licking it off. he looks so cute that you have to use the clicker again, only two this time but it's starting to rile him up anyways. His gorgeous cock hanging hard between his soft thighs, "oh? are you needy, baby? you need mommy to milk you?" he pushes his face into your thigh nodding slightly while blushing hard at your tone, so embarrassed that he gets off on this. 

"Up! On the bed, you're allowed," He crawls to the side, rubbing his face on your leg for a second before pulling himself onto the bed. "Roll over!" he falls back onto the bed, keeping his legs and arms up and bent at the joint. you laugh at how cute he is, running your hand up and down his thigh before moving to his soaking wet cock. 

He throws his head back, letting out high pitched moans, trying his hardest to not buck his hips up into your hands. rubbing the pad of your thumb over the slit of his cock, watching how much it leaks out all over your hand. leaning down, you flick your tongue over the slit then take the head into your mouth. his eyes screw shut, fingers clenching and unclenching the sheets, biting his lip while his cute thighs shake. he's always been extremely sensitive<3

He opens his mouth to tell you that he wants to cum, then promptly shuts it, puppies aren't meant to use human words! So he barks, louder than the times before, far more confident, "What is it, pup? Do you need to cum? Is that it?" He nods, barking again and whining, cute face scrunched up, so close to cumming. "Go ahead, cum for me. cum for me puppy, make a mess" of course, you use the clicker again and it sets him off, cum bursting from his dick, getting all over your hand and his chest. 

What a dirty pup

[high-quality-assorted-chaos]

challengers (2024), luca guadagnino / almost (sweet music), hozier

[cannibal-nightmares]

random, but, thinking about it-- good, accurate, and respectful representation of schizophrenia in fiction and media probably saved my life and is 100% what helped me find resources for myself. by the way.

[starry-bi-sky]

no context snippet for a "SY is SJ" au i thought of at 1am last night, because i am a firm believer of the "amnesia doesnt erase your trauma it just erases the context of it" agenda.

(although in SY's case he DID kinda forget that trauma.. at first. it's coming back to him. the system gave him a grace period. there that's my excuse)

crossposted on ao3 too in case anyone wants to read it there instead

--------

Shen Qingqiu is painting again.

He's found himself doing that a lot lately, now that he's out of seclusion and Binghe is in the bamboo house, squirreled away into the side room where the Head Disciple should be. Painting is, of course, a logical course of action for a peak lord to do! Especially one such as himself, the Peak Lord of Qing Jing, which was basically the peak of the creative arts.

But— well, he wasn't expecting to find himself liking it so much. Or doing it so often. Painting in the style of the time period is a lot easier to learn than he expected, and it gets him B-points for in-character actions! Who knew the Original Goods was such an artist of the time? He had such an evocative way with his brush, he should know — he's found some of his works!

(They were tucked away like a dirty secret in the back of his closet, locked away in a qiankun chest that Shen Qingqiu found the key to far too easily. He’ll admit to being a little disappointed in the Original Goods’ predictability — a false bottom in the vanity, really? Anyone could find that!) 

This brought him to his next issue; he was getting headaches, and he thinks, perhaps, just a little, that the Original Goods' thoughts and feelings were bleeding into him. Just a tad! And he was certain it was the Original Goods too, because— because, well…

He keeps flinching. You know how you’re walking down a public but otherwise empty hallway, and turn the corner and nearly run right into someone, and your heart jumps three spaces to the left and back? Subconsciously you knew there was a chance you were going to see someone, but their sudden appearance still startles you? 

Yeah, that. He keeps experiencing it with Binghe. He about jumps right out of his skin whenever Binghe emerges from the side room or the kitchen, even though he knows his disciple is there! And he knows it’s not a habit from his old world, because Shen Qingqiu lived with three other siblings in the house, and always knew to expect someone to be right around the corner. 

And he knows, especially so, that it’s not a habit from his old world, because along with the mini heart attacks that come with Binghe’s presence in the bamboo house, is the discomfort. A distinct yet indistinguishably vague feeling of unease that comes with sharing a living space with someone. The kind that makes his hackles rise like a particularly disgruntled and cornered street cat. 

Again, he grew up with three siblings! That could not be coming from him. It has to be an Original Goods feeling slipping in, and it was really getting in the way of things! How was he supposed to give Binghe a sense of belonging and a better upbringing if his presence in the bamboo house made him feel horribly exposed?

Some days, he just can't escape the gnawing feeling of dread in his chest when he returns to the bamboo house at the end of the day, knowing full well that it will soon be accompanied by someone else. Even if that someone was Binghe. 

That feeling of a lack of privacy makes his skin crawl and his shoulders lock up to his ears with every step. It was inconvenient; annoying. 

It was utterly unscientific, it was his house! And it was only Binghe, who, currently, is a harmless little white sheep! There was no darkened protagonist here, come to tear his limbs off. There was nothing to be so… tense about. 

It does nothing to stop the little swooping his heart does when he opens the door to, sometimes, Binghe already there, kneeling at the table like a dutiful disciple as always.

Oh, and that's not starting on his steadily increasing dislike of physical touch. It had to be something to do with the ludicrous amount of layers he wears and the modesty standards of the time period — and, also, of course, the Original Goods' own aversion to it.

He knows he's never felt so uncomfortable in another human being's presence before! Sure, he wasn’t the most social of people in his old world, but he still remembers being able to leave the house and be among the masses with relative ease. Here, though, was an entirely different story. His personal space bubble seemingly doubled, no, tripled in size, and it was irking him quite unhandily. 

The worst offenders were the Peak Lord meetings, it had to be. Navigating through the sea of disciples, cultivators, and visitors on Qiong Ding was a nightmare enough on its own — lessened only by the fact that said mountain occupants parted like the red sea when they saw him coming — but sitting in a secluded room with eleven other people, majority of whom still disliked him despite his turnaround? Awful.  

The proximity between him and his martial siblings isn’t even that bad, either. He has plenty of elbow room and in fact, would need to make an effort to reach out and physically touch anyone on either side of him. But, still!! Too close!! 

Shen Qingqiu made the conscious decision to sit as close to the door as his own comfort would allow, but not so close that he couldn’t see it — he tried that once. He doesn’t want to speak of the incident. The stress alone will give him heart palpitations. 

(He, pointedly, doesn’t want to think about the time he arrived at a Peak Lord meeting and found the Long Ning Shou Peak Lord sitting in His Chair either. Shen Qingqiu has never been particularly territorial about ‘assigned seating’ before, up until that moment. While he’s proud to say that he didn’t do anything to Chen Qingxuan for sitting in his spot, he’s mortified by how childishly petulant he felt about it for the rest of the meeting. He’s pretty sure everyone could sense his sour mood.)  

Why, just a few days ago he nearly bit a poor disciple's head off during martial lessons when they accidentally tumbled into him after a series of spectacularly fumbling footing. The child had been so horrified and apologetic that Shen Qingqiu remembered to reel himself back in time and merely scold them, rather than tear their skin right off with a tongue lashing.

But— enough about such stressful things! Shen Qingqiu was painting, and when he was painting, Binghe knew not to bother him, and to not let anyone do so either. Lest they all be dealt with a moderately grumpy Shizun. 

(His emotions may be as volatile as a hormonal boy lately, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t know how to keep them in check!! He still had a reputation to keep.)

His studio offered him a sense of privacy and solitary that not even his bedroom allowed him — for Binghe could knock on his bedroom door to alert him for whatever needed his attention, and while he could do the same to the studio, the fact remained; a Shizun interrupted during his precious studio time, did not, a happy Shizun make. 

There were silencing talismans painted into the walls — courtesy of the Original Goods — that Shen Qingqiu really quite appreciated. It allowed him the peace of mind to do things his face could not allow him outside of it— and that is, he got to muse aloud to himself, and hum songs from his old world that he couldn't anywhere else. Some songs that he still knew the lyrics to, he was happy to half-sing under his breath.

It had to be a form of meditation, it had to be! With how much peace and grounding it brought him, it couldn't be anything but a form of meditation.

Currently, he was just letting instincts lead his brush strokes while he hummed a melody from some myth musical he stumbled across a few weeks before he died. The songs had been so catchy that he had most of them all but memorized! He's tried repeating the instrumentals on his guqin and ruan with varying degrees of success.

Painting helped kill his migraines the most. As it stands, he’s had a killer one hammering at his skull since this morning. Bad enough to the point that he nearly snapped at poor Binghe during breakfast, and the child could all but sense the sour mood radiating off his master, and in turn had been silent and subdued until he left. 

Aish, that child… Shen Qingqiu hasn't quite quelled the guilt in him. Something about that awful subservience rankled him in a way he couldn’t explain, making him want to recoil and snap out at the same time. Something dark and deep in him had reared its head, wanting to reach over and shake Binghe for it. 

He'd been horrified by his own thoughts, and then locked himself in his studio for the rest of the day.

Even in death — or wherever the Original Goods was — he was still making things difficult! It was only natural that Binghe would go quiet and careful at the sight of Shen Qingqiu’s bad mood, he used to beat the boy at whim for imagined slights! He’ll have to reassure Binghe better that he wasn’t going to hurt him. 

Bah. He was supposed to be painting, not thinking about things that made his head pound worse or his mood dampen more! He didn't want to think about Luo Binghe right now — a surprise, even for him! — he wants to focus on the scent of ground ink and paints, and his own soft humming.

He blinks, once, twice, and focuses on the painting. It happens, like now, that he would zone out and paint entire landscapes, people, whatever, without realizing. It was always a guessing game of what he's made when he lets his mind wander. Some of things he painted were merely of Qing Jing, other times— 

— a burning red fire, encased on canvas, hangs off his eyelashes. And following it, the ensuing qi deviation he'd shoved off. —

Other times aren't worth mentioning.

He's painted a boy this time, a young one, with dark skin and even darker hair, and a smile that isn't quite right. There's a beauty mark right above the corner of his lip, artfully placed, as if it had been hand-placed by an expert craftsman. The boy's upper face remains unpainted, as if he’d been born without eyes. Yet, even without them, the boy looks completely serene and non-judgemental. Mn, no, perhaps more accurately he looks passive? Peaceful? 

Shen Qingqiu can feel his gaze, missing as it is, burning into him. He frowns immediately. His headache no less lessened, in fact— he thinks it's gotten worse. There’s a horrid familiarity about the boy in the painting, like a word poised on the tip of his tongue that he can’t quite place. "Don't look at me like that." He says aloud, bah, he hadn't meant to! But it’s not like there’s anyone to hear him. "Don't you know who I am?" 

En, no, it’s placating. That’s what it is. The boy is placating him. How unscientific! Unneeded; ridiculous. Why would he paint a boy trying to placate him? He was a scum villain, and a grown man!

The painting says nothing, as it ought to, it was only wet ink and dry parchment. Shen Qingqiu's ears burn anyways, and his eyes drop down to the smile on the boy's face. 

He finds that he deeply detests that smile on his face, it disgusts him. 

It disgusts him in the way only sheer incompetence can, a burn of irritation that bubbles up every time he saw an objectively wrong take in the PIDW comment section. As if he can't believe someone would look at him, a scum villain such as himself, and still be able to smile like that.

More than that, it's not right. That smile. It's— there's something wrong with it. Which can't be right, Shen Qingqiu hardly makes a mistake when he makes these trance-made paintings. But there is, he’s looking at it right here. He hates it. That awful smile. It's so— so… insincere. If you're going to smile at him, at least mean it, eh? Doesn't he deserve that much?

Long, slender fingers dip into the small wooden paint bowl beside him and lift back up, dripping wet ink onto the side table, and then onto the floor, across the last two layers of his robes that he always strips down to in here.

He reaches for the canvas to— to what? Smear that stupid smile off that boy's face? Mould it into his own image, back into place like the way it should be, paintbrush be damned? That wretched child, smiling at him like that. That smile is too straight, too perfect. It's mocking him.

Where is the tilt? The slant in it? That boy always smiled with an off-kilter turn of his lips, crooked, that made him real the same way blood in the mouth did, and now he's not, and it's wrong. He will wipe that smile off the boy's face himself if he must, if only to get him to wear anything else—

There is a knock on the door, gentle, hesitant. Only his cultivator hearing is what allows him to pick up on it. Shen Qingqiu's head pounds terribly at the sound. It makes a screeching sound go off in the back of his skull, like an abrupt kick to the teeth. His jaw clacks together on pure adrenaline as he regains the sense to not snarl wordlessly.

Didn't he say not to interrupt—?

His ink-stained fingers snap back, a gunshot recoil that sends splatters of ink flying and splatting coldly against his face. His nails dig painfully into the soft flesh of his palm, and Shen Qingqiu gathers himself back into his lofty cultivator persona with a single breath and a ramrod straightening of his spine. His ears ring horribly. "What." He calls, perhaps a little too coldly.

"Shizun?" Binghe says softly, and the sound of that child's voice is like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. Recognition hits him, and the guilt crawls back in at his earlier irritation. "Forgive this one for interrupting, but Yue-shibo is here."

Shen Qingqiu is still staring at his painting, but the boy’s smile burns behind his eyelids like a fire. It takes half a beat for him to respond; "…Alright," he says, and stands up, "prepare some tea, Binghe. And use the ginger root this master owns, he has a terrible headache."

He walks around the stool, fingers still dripping black, and plucks his robes up from the chair he draped them over. His head still hurts, and there’s a peculiar ache in his heart. He takes his time putting his layers back on, vindictively tying each button and knot leisurely. 

Surely Yue Qingyuan has the patience to wait for this one after he so rudely arrived unannounced, hm?

[inkyrainstorms]

why can't Ford just build a new engine? you ask, scratching your head because Ford was the 'built a weapon to kill an immortal interdimensional deity' guy, and the 'immortal lightbulb that softens your skin' guy.

Because! I say, shaking my head and about to vibrate straight out of my skin and into the stratosphere. He's the 'build cool technology that has no earth equivalent guy'!!! He hasn't seen a basic earth circuit board since 1982! He hasn't seen modern Earth tech since. ever!!!

If this man makes an engine with all his cool tech and tools he stores specifically in his basement, and they go out, with their engine, and it breaks, they're absolutely fucked, you understand? They're done for. Nobody can help them fix this. Ford cannot store his magical soldering iron AND spark plugs AND Everything Else on him at all times. believe him, he's tried.

[sewellsheart]

Wayhaven BFFs (3/4)

Sophie & Adam: “Unstoppable Force, Immovable Object”

Sophie’s Solo Collage

Reina & Farah, Mallory & Nate, Iris & Morgan

[watcherglowcloud]

wasn’t gonna drink tonight but i miss oscar malevolent

[arbor-tristis]

If I had a nickel for every time Llewellyn Watts found a potential love interest through an investigation I'd have four nickels which is not a lot but it's weird that it happened FOUR TIMES

[rainbowconvection]

Ok, yeah, the song made me cry and all. But 'Instead of being angry about genocide, you should do a lovely song about it' kinda doesn't wash when said genocide being livestreamed. The problem here really isn't that people don't know.

[jedisupernova]

me writing about a sport i know nothing about besides the few match highlights and drill videos i watched, wondering why its so hard when its time to actually write about the mechanics of the game as it is imperative to the story

[merelyafigment]

Yeah, sure, scuffling playfully and ending up tying each other up to practice your knot skills in case you need to tie someone up someday in the course of your illegal activities is totally normal, guys. 👍 Carry on being heterosexual buddies, no issues here! I'm sure it won't awaken anything in you! (I was working on a dumb Miguel/Chico AU instead of the many WIPs I should be working on.)

*

“Huh.”

“Huh? What, you see something back there– hey, if I have like a fucking bug on me, or a suspicious mole, you got to tell me, Miguel. A friend would tell me!”

“... I just wrestled you to the fucking floor, and I'm about to tie your ass up, but yeah, let's discuss our damn friendship or whatever. I got time.” Almost reached out to give Chico's head a patronizing pat, but he knew the fucker too well to give him an opening. Just, like, tapped two fingers against the thin skin of the wrist caged in his hands instead.

[mypinis2112]

MAKE THOSE OLD MEN TEXT EACH OTHER IN CHARACTER !!!!!!