#and might like...have a wip with this in mind

[anitablogs1931]

I am happy you like it!

I’m such a scifi and space nerd since I was a kid! The explanation up there was just the bare minimum of what I have planned, I tried telling people THE MOST BASIC information about Timedrifters

Of course I HAVE MORE, mind this is a little more complex

SOME MORE EXTRA INFO:

Drifterverse is not a real Multiverse, it’s a parallel Universe, like every human crafted Universe should be

Always separate dimensions from each other, even if they can effect each other!

THESE ARE NOT MATHEMATICAL DIMENSIONS! Of course, time itself is one dimensional!

Disclaimer: Drifterverse has only 3 true dimensions! I’ll still be calling other things overlapping with this universe “dimensions”, like the Shadow Dimension, the Time Dimension, etc.

“AUs” and stories are called “Concept” as a whole, with a Core Concept/Idea and Timelines that radiate from it, they are only visible and matter in the Time Dimension

Empty spots in the Time Dimension mean in this part of Drifterverse, there are no living life forms that can perceive time, pretty logical

Everyone exists in every dimension in some kind of form, dying in one doesn’t erase you from the others, but it effects them

For example, die in the one you physically matter and you’re still alive in the astral dimension until someone kills you there (that’s Reaper’s job). That way ghosts can exist and appear if you summon them, at least as long as a Reaper grants them

Reapers are not allowed to kill you in every dimension! Mind their job is only to kill a few versions of you from only one timeline! They have to be very precise and careful

If there are too many Timestrings coming from one timeline and the story is missing too many important people at different time stamps, it can rupture the entire timeline into pieces

Let’s say a character in story “kills the universe”. Does this erase the timeline? The Concept? Heck, Drifterverse?? No. Every concept is in some sort of bubble they think is a “universe” but none of them could ever endanger Drifterverse itself!

Most people forget how BIG and EMPTY an actual Universe is! The light years Concepts are away from each other are crazy. Pretty amateurish from those people.

The timeline might fade into nothing if they kill every living being there perceiving things (including themselves), but it doesn’t effect what happened in time before, you could technically still travel back before all the shit happened

You time-travel and change events? You’re scared of a paradox? Problem solved itself with the “copy, edit, paste” principle! You do that with the timeline and everything is fine, it just creates a new timeline

Metro (aka Error Sans) just hates when people do it because, like in the graphs before, can cause not only the timeline to be copy pasted, but also who’s currently out of it with a Timestring! Imagine that kind of chaos just because someone wanted to prevent their brother dying

That’s why he creates invisible firewalls around every whole Concept like a bubble and tells people they are in an AU they can’t leave and that the “Multiverse” outside has different rules and tears them apart like a black hole (necessary lie)

Too many Concepts completely rupturing besides each other at the same time could cause a black hole disc in the Time Dimension that feasts on all the time surrounding it till nothing is left, but let’s be honest, that timing is almost impossible

Worm holes only appear in the Time Dimension but they effect the physical matter one directly and can cause random individuals to glitch through their timeline and land somewhere entirely different

Wormholes are literally caused by almost parasitic negative matter grouping like a worm that chews holes in the Time Dimension

ALL OF THESE IDEAS ARE CREDITED TO ME AND MY NERDY BRAIN

Of course, these rules and organizational work are still a HUGE WIP and need a lot of attention and polishing from my side

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet Ones 10

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: in the land of delulu.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You excuse yourself for a hot bath. You didn't have the luxury in your apartment. You may as well enjoy what you can as the seconds tick down until your eternal purgatory. 

You breathe in the steam and let it soothe you. As much as it can. You don't think you've truly relaxed since the smoke filled your apartment. Oh, yeah, that's right, this man pulled out army tactics just to get you here. Just when you convince yourself he's not that loony, you remember another twisted facet of this whole ordeal. 

No matter how many times you retrace your steps, how many memories you unravel and search, you can't figure out where he came from, or how you managed to catch his attention. You are unremarkable but he talks like you're some sort of goddess. Not too mention, he seems to believe he knows you somehow. That you are soulmates in some ridiculously serendipitous way. There's nothing meant to be about this. You never meant to be with anyone. 

The water turns lukewarm and you stir. You might as well get out. You're not going to get much out of it aside from the pruned skin. You dry off and wrap yourself in one of the fluffy robes hung in wait. You stop to stare at yourself in the mirror. 

What else can you do to change his mind? You ate like an animal, you vomited like an overfed cat, and you've done everything to make yourself unapproachable to the general public, not just him. It's like this is a game to him but you're not having fun. 

You come out into the hotel room. The smell of lavender and aloe gives you pause. The lights are dimmed. Oh jeez. You cross your arms as the soft Hawaiian sunset glows through the large glass doors. Flickering candlelight pulses all around you and rose petals decorate the floor and bed. 

"Please, I just want to sleep--" 

"Jellybean, good boy Lloyd is gonna help you do just that," he purrs as he appears. "I'm gonna give you a nice massage. I know you don't like strangers touching you and all that so I'm going to do it all on my own--" 

"What? No. No. I'm going to sleep..." you trail off as you see what he's wearing. Next to nothing. Just a tight red thong that barely contains his very obvious excitement. 

"Take off your robe, bean, and let the magic hands do their work," he reaches for you and you dodge him. 

"Lloyd, it's... we're not even married. Shouldn't you wait until tomorrow night-" 

"Tomorrow? The wedding night? Beanie boo, I don't think you realise everything I'm saving for that. The way I'm gonna pamper you," he spreads his hands flat in the air and nuzzles the air lewdly then flicks his tongue slowly up and down. 

"God," you whisper and clutch tight the front of your robe. "I said... you said we'd wait--" 

"It's all above board. I can have a feel of the goods but I'm not gonna untie the ribbon. Promise," he puts his hand to his chest. "Hey, if it makes you feel better, I can take these off-" 

He hooks his thumbs in the sides of the thong and you shake your head furiously, "no, no, don't-- don't do that." 

"I'm not shy, baby." He winks. 

"Lloyd, please. I'm tired. I... I've never flown before--" 

"Will you keep saying my name, bean? You make it sound so nice." 

You blink and hold back your revolt. You keep telling yourself you just need to get through this one thing but why? You're not getting out of this. He's taken you out of your apartment, out of the city, out of state. You're pretty sure there's nowhere left to run and he's shown you what happens if you try to hide. 

"Come on, I'll be gentle. I just want you to feel good. Get nice and loose for the wedding," he steps closer and grabs the belt of your robe. "My little jelly bean--" He pauses and blinks down at you. "Am I talking to much again? Let my hands do the talking, huh?" 

He winks and licks his lips. You want to melt and not in a good way. He tugs loose your belt and you barely keep the robe from falling open completely. He purrs and grabs your hands. You wrestle with him, defeated as he wrenches apart the fabric. 

"Damn, bean, I mean... it just gets sweeter every time I see it," he wiggles excitedly. 

You put your hands on his but he’s much too strong to deter. His eyes flick up from your body and he grins. He licks his lips. 

“I already know you’re just as delicious as you look,” he snarls. “Come on, bean.” He walks you backwards until you’re by the bed. “You get yourself nice and naked and spread eagle.” 

He pushes you, just hard enough that you fall onto the mattress. Your chest jiggles as you land and he purrs again. You plant the heels of your hands on the bed and drag yourself up. He goes to the night stand and grabs the shiny bottle of massage oil. 

You don’t have much of a choice but the easiest one is to go along with this. He says it’s just a massage. You know better than to trust the man who stalked you, who terrified you, then stole you away, but you don’t have much defense against him. Nothing but your submission. 

You slip free of the robe then turn onto your stomach. He tugs away the cotton and lets it heap on the floor. He climbs up on the bed, jostling you as he crosses the mattress on his knees. He oils up his palms and you quickly turn you face down into the pillows. 

He straddles your ass and you tense. He grabs your shoulders and rolls the muscles between his thumb and fingers. He tuts, “baby, you need to chill out. Let your good boy help you out.” 

He pushes his thumbs into your flesh and angles his hands to drag his knuckles down your back. The ridges of his hands drag along either side of your spine and he traces with his thumbs pressed firmly into the muscle. You can’t resist the moan that rises between your lips and catches in the pillow case. 

He pushes back up and once more kneads your shoulders. You quiver and squeeze your eyes shut. It’s overwhelming to be touched. At all. More unnerving that you don’t hate it. 

You avoid people, just as much, you avoid any contact. You like your space, your quiet, and this man has violated both. He runs his touch down your sides and the warmth of him seeps into you. He takes your left arm and begins tedious and tender work of the entire length. Your fingers curl and your hand twitches. 

You groan and he wiggles against you. His crotch is pressed into you without shame. You hardly notice as you fight the rising tide of delight flowing through you. No, why does it feel good? 

He gets to your other arm as the tension slowly uncoils. You never realised how much there was and he’s finding every nook and cranny. He works his way over your back once more. You quiver and moan long and loud. 

“That’s it, jelly bean,” he growls and once more grinds against your ass. “Like putty in my hands. 

He moves down your legs and pushes a knee between them. He parts your thighs and knees on the bed. He brushes his thumbs along the curve of your ass and hums. He bends and you clench your cheeks. He clucks, “now, now, be a good girl. I said I’d behave, bean.” 

He rubs your ass in his large hands. He leans in and kisses each cheek. You squirm but he doesn’t let up. He flutters his fingers along the insides of your thighs. You shiver and he puts more pressure into it. He teases and tends to you. 

You bring your arm up to grip the billow and arch your back. He flicks his finger along your cunt and you pop your head up. He snickers. 

“I said relax. I can’t have my wife tied in knots... I’m supposed to tie her in knots,” he taunts. 

He brings himself to straddle you again. He shifts over you and pushes your thighs closed with his. He grips your hips and massages them tightly. He pulls a hand back as he moves behind you. 

He rests his dick between your cheeks as he pins you down by your waist. You spasm but can’t push yourself up. He has you trapped as he slowly thrusts up and down, gliding along your flesh. 

“Lloyd, you said--” 

“Don’t worry. I won’t go inside,” he grits as he keeps his careful tempo. “Mmm, baby, how can you expect me to resist this ass. Urgh, it’s so nice.” 

He brings his hand down to push your cheeks together as he fucks between them. Mortified, you squeak and hide your face. You reach back with one hand and push on his forearm. There’s no stopping him and this is just a preview of the next night. 

Your hand falls away at the thought. You can’t stop him. You won’t. No matter how you fight. You tried that and he won. The moment he got you out of your apartment, it was over. 

The bed rocks with him. He builds his speed, little by little. His deep voice fills the hotel room as he kneads your ass. He pumps between them and snarls. He squeezes until your eyes water. 

You twist your neck and swat at him, “Lloyd, you’re hurting---” 

He lets go of once side of your rear and shoves your head down. He ruts wildly as he crushes your skull into the pillow and bounces you on the mattress. A sudden warmth spills into the small of your back and spurts further up your spine. He hisses and quakes, losing his rhythm as he leans his weight onto you. 

You grasp his wrist and whine, “ow, Lloyd--” 

He retracts from you and flips to fall beside you. You keep your face down, your eyes stinging with tears. You’re scared. You can’t remember the last time you weren’t, but that’s all the proof you need. Lloyd can say all these sweet things, make all his promises, but you know in the end, you can’t control him. He can barely control himself. 

“Jellybean,” he tickles your hip as his cum cools on your skin. “You’re so amazing--” 

You shimmy away from him without looking back. You can’t lay there any longer. You nearly fall off the bed. You stagger away from the bed. You need to get away from him and more, you need to get that stuff off of you. 

You burst into the bathroom and crank on the sink. You grab a washcloth and wet it. You wipe away the stickiness along your hips but you can’t reach higher.  

Lloyd’s shadow appears in the door frame. You ignore him as you rinse the cloth and try again. He comes to you and takes a clean one. “Let me help--” 

“No, I’m fine,” you snip. 

“Jellybean, I know it’s been a long day--” 

“You know? You don’t know,” you sneer and tear away from him. 

“Baby--” 

“I bathed and you—you--” 

“I made a mess,” he giggles. 

You face him and shake your head. What is wrong with him? This isn’t funny. 

“I couldn’t help myself,” he runs his hand down his naked torso. “It’s just what you do to me. I’m...” he stops and looks down as his dick twitches. “I’m getting hard again just think of it. Au naturel, baby. No enhancers needed.” He growls and drags the washcloth around his shaft. “Little blue pill got nothing on you.” 

He wipes himself then wads up the wet cloth and hurls it in the sink. “Alright, then. Longing makes the heart, and the balls, grow fonder, huh?” He offers his hand and smirks, “let’s go to bed.” 

You stare at him. Unmoving. He shows his palms. 

“Sleeping only. Well, maybe a few snuggles,” he says. “But I promise, I’ll abstain. Just for a little longer.” 

[rangersoup]

WIP Wednesday

It's 2:00AM and that means its Wednesday! Which means it's WIP WEDNESDAY!! and i am unreasonably excited. So im kicking us off bright (or dark technically cause the suns not even up yet) and early! im screaming cause i can't decide what part of this fic i want to post today but anyway! here's a bit of my current wip that's occupying ALL of my brain!

TK nearly jumps out of his skin as a hand touches his shoulders. He was so deep in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even heard anyone come into the hospital room. He whips his head around and finds himself looking up at his dad. He’s here. He finally made it. He's finally here. “Dad?” he chokes. He almost doesn’t believe it. The last thing he knew was that his dad was making a hail mary drive south of New York to find an air port that could actually get a flight out. He didn’t expect him to be here so soon. “I’m here, son,” Owen says quietly, and TK doesn’t give him time to say anything else before standing up so quickly he almost knocks his chair over and flings himself into his dad’s arms. He’s crying before his mind can even catch up with what’s happening. “I’m here,” his dad repeats, wrapping his arms around him and cradles his head. “I’m here.” “They don’t think he’s going to wake up,” TK sobs into his shoulder. “Ssshhh,” Owen whispers into the top of his head and rocks him as they stand there at Carlos’s bedside. “Everything’s going to be okay.” TK wants to believe him, he wishes with all of his might that he could force himself to believe him, but its bad. It’s so, so, so bad. “I was back there with him.” His dad squeezes him a little tighter, and he feels like a child again, tucked somewhere safe and secure, somewhere where the world seems less scary, somewhere where everything might just be okay… but not quite. Not quite. The only place on the entire planet that really truely feels like that is in Carlos’s arms, the one place he can’t be right now. “I got here as fast I could.” “I know,” TK says, swallowing and finally pulling away from his dad’s warm embrace. We wipes the tears away and steps back, ducking his head. “What happened?” TK shakes his head. “They were serving a warrant and ended up in a shoot out. He got hit. That’s really all I know, other than…” he trails off, glancing over at Carlos. “Other than what happened after.” “What happened in the ambulance, you mean?” Owen prompts, his lips pursed as he looks TK over with pitying eyes. TK nods. “I– Dad I can’t get it out of my head.” He’s crying again. “Come here,” his dad says gently, and pulls him into another hug. He knows he understands, he understands the horrors, the helplessness, the inability to purge every horrifying image from his mind. He’s been the back of an ambulance with TK more times than any father should ever have to. “What do you need?” TK shakes his head, driving it against his chest as his shoulder shake, he can’t get them to stop shaking. He can’t stop crying. He needs a million things. He wants to let the words come pouring out, he wants to spill everything pent up inside of him, but only one thing makes out. It’s broken and hoarse as it leaves his lips. “Carlos.” he needs Carlos.

Tags under the cut!

@lonestardust @futures-tense @annoyingcloudearthquake @nisbanisba @lemonlyman-dotcom @heartstringsduet @carlos-in-glasses @welcometololaland @emsprovisions @paperstorm @captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @henrygrass @ccgrizzy @thisbuildinghasfeelings @lightningboltreader @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @eclectic-sassycoweyes @giuhina @happilylovingchaos

and @my-beloved-lakes, I know you're writing now, so i am calling you out specifically. This tag list is a no pressure tag list for everyone except you. Lots of pressure for you! Your bitch ass better post something! im allowed to call her out like this. she's my sister.

And open tagging anyone else that wants to participate!

I may have gotten a little over excited about this one. I really really really can't wait to start posting it, but i want to be way farther along with it before i do. As is 10k words isn't "far enough along"

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; "the one where Kon’s soulmark isn’t fake". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Metropolis has been kinda quiet lately, aside from the usual petty crime and a few car accidents and that kind of thing. Superman asked Superboy to do him a favor and keep an eye on some press event that LexCorp is running that apparently got some threats called in–which, like, clearly he was scraping the bottom of the barrel there if he asked him to do it, but obviously Supergirl wasn’t gonna be willing to and Steel probably wouldn’t have either. He personally has less of an opinion on Lex Luthor than either of them do, aside from “kind of a creepy dick” and, like, obviously the whole “legit an actual supervillain and seriously, WHY do more people in Metropolis and on the internet not seem concerned by that?” But he’s never had to clean up any messes the dude caused himself, so he doesn’t really have any personal beef past what a total fucking shithead said dude was to Supergirl and what a petty spite-powered weirdo he is to Superman. 

Superman said he'd be keeping an ear out anyway, just apparently he didn't know how fast he was gonna be able to show up if something went down, so he just wanted somebody on-scene just in case. Even though Luthor is a petty spite-powered weirdo who was a total fucking shithead to Supergirl and would totally deserve his stupid press event that's probably just about stupid bullshit getting fucked up. 

But whatever; Superboy's just here to play super-errand-boy ‘til the real deal can make it, and also probably at least the event staff and press don't deserve getting caught in the crossfire if shit does end up going down. And Luthor probably doesn't deserve to actually, like, die about being a petty vindictive bitch and a lying liar of a boyfriend from hell. 

Like, fifty-fifty on that one, maybe. But still. 

So–yeah, given all that, Superboy guesses he’s the obvious pick to event-watch. Unless Superman wants to call in a favor from an out-of-towner with a different category of vigilante name, anyway, and given the usual weight class of the local bad guys, that’s not really a thing Green Arrow can handle and, like, Wonder Woman literally has a day job, sooooo . . . yeah, Superboy's the obvious pick here. 

Like, once Supergirl and Steel both got ruled out, anyway, and probably Superman did ask Wonder Woman and possibly even Green Arrow first, because optimism and ego aside Superboy is not that deluded about Superman’s level of confidence in him, but . . . yeah. It’s whatever. 

It’s actually super fucking boring, in fact, and Superboy’s currently sitting on a rooftop across the street from the event with his arms folded on the ledge and head resting in them as he watches the event staff set stuff up in a straight-up mind-numbing stakeout that is way less “stakeout” and way more “he already ate all the food truck nachos he scrounged up the cash for earlier and now he is fucking suffering”. 

Ugh. 

Superboy eyes the temporary stage and the rows of chairs in front of it. He has no idea how it’s supposed to look when it’s done, but it’s, like . . . reasonably put-together, right? Like, it looks reasonably put-together. Though admittedly he has clue zero about what the final setup’s supposed to look like, which maybe is something he should’ve thought to check on, like . . . somehow, he doesn’t know. Chatted up one of the waitresses or something, maybe, or just asked one of the dudes who’ve been carrying all the electrical equipment around. Probably “yo I wanna make sure you and your co-workers don’t friggin’ die” would be enough to inspire somebody who doesn’t work directly for LexCorp to wanna hand over info like that, right? Like, in theory? 

He might be back in deluded optimism territory with that one, admittedly. 

God, are they fucking done yet? 

The media finally starts showing up like an hour later, which makes Superboy seriously regret his bright idea of coming early to make sure nobody pulled anything weird with the stage like he even would’ve fucking noticed anyway with everything that was going on over there and all the people that’ve been in and out and whatever. His brain is literally mush. Bored as fuck mind-numbed mush. Which is, like, not great for keeping an eye on a situation, especially a big busy . . . whatever the fuck a press event technically counts as. Meeting? Party? Punishment from hell specifically designed to wreck a teenage superclone’s random-ass Tuesday? 

Superboy maybe shoulda paid a little more attention to the event’s start time or whatever when he was deciding when to show up. At least he coulda paced himself a little better on the nachos. Maybe gotten a burrito or something to go with. 

Maybe a couple burritos, at this point.

[itsmedemibones]

I Choo-choose You week

Day 4- Date

Okay oops. I'm not as happy with this one for some reason, so please have the relevant excerpt from my WIP Ingo/Reader fic.

Flustered Ingo tooth-rotting-sugary fluff under the cut.

The Tracks We Take

The park is peaceful this time of day, the golden glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through the trees, casting dappled light across the grass. Your Pokémon play nearby— Darumaka happily chasing after Duosion, who bobs along, unbothered by his antics, like a bubble on the breeze. Ingo’s team roams, enjoying the open air, though his Excadrill sits in the shade, half-buried in the dirt, content to rest.

You're leaning back on your hands, legs stretched out across the large blanket Ingo had brought. It's peaceful. It's almost hard to imagine that you had both been so nervous for this. It's your first date, but it feels… right. Easy. The wind ruffles your hair and you breathe in a deep, content breath. 

And yet.

For the last few minutes, you’ve watched Ingo, seated beside you, slowly become more tense. His previously loose posture has become rigid and he's fidgeting with a blade of grass, brows furrowed as he stares intently at the ground.

He wants to say something.

You know him well enough to see the signs. It's in the way his shoulders keep tensing, how he inhales as if to speak, only to stop and exhale again, silent.

You wait, giving him time. There's no rush. 

But after his third failed attempt, you take pity on him. You shift a bit closer, brushing your hand lightly over his. The contact startles him, and he flinches slightly, grass falling to the blanket.

"Ingo," you say gently. "Whatever it is, I promise there's nothing you could say that would make me love you any less."

His breath catches.

Slowly, he turns to look at you, his expression unreadable– stunned, maybe, like he hadn’t expected you to call him out on his hesitance. 

Then he swallows, and you see the tiniest twitch of the muscle in his jaw as he gathers his courage.

"Y/N," he says, his normally booming voice almost hushed. "I... I wish to ask you something that has been weighing on my mind."

You nod, moving your hand to slowly, deliberately squeeze his. "Go ahead."

He inhales deeply.

You're not sure what you expect. You're already past declarations of love. He's asked you on a date. What could he still be so–

"I wish to know… what you have imagined about me."

Your brain stutters to a halt, shocked at the sheer boldness of the request coming from Ingo of all people.

He looks— Oh. He looks like he might faint just from the mere thought that you've imagined him at all.

You remember the day you confessed that you love him. How Emmet had casually teased Ingo, asking how the real thing compared to the (many, many) nights he apparently lay awake imagining you doing so. How Ingo had felt so terribly embarrassed, thinking it indecent to imagine such things without your consent. 

Your lips part, then close. You bite your lip realizing you aren't sure how to answer. 

You take a moment, studying him. The tightness around his eyes. The way he stares at your hand on his, as though it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. The way his ears are a furious shade of red.

And you understand. 

He wants to know, but he’s also terrified to know.

So, you take your time, twining your fingers with his. You can feel how warm he is, how his fingers twitch against yours, how he’s bracing for an impact that will never come.

"Ingo," you murmur, smiling softly. With the level of tension, you do have to wonder… "Would you like me to tell you the safe things I’ve imagined, or… or the scandalous ones?"

He– whimpers.

That's the only word for the strangled sound that espapes his tight throat. Quickly, he looks away, free hand coming up to press against his mouth as if that will somehow contain his mortification.

But he doesn’t let go of your hand.

And that?

That tells you all you need to know.

—Ingo—

Ingo swallows, staring at the blanketed ground between you both as he struggles to find his words. He shouldn’t have asked. Arceus, what had possessed him to ask?

You are patient. You always are. You squeeze his hand gently, steadying him like an anchor in the midst of his spiraling thoughts.

"Alright," you say at last when he still does not answer. Your voice is warm, reassuring. "I'll start with the innocent things."

He exhales slowly, tension in his shoulders easing slightly. It is not everything you have imagined, but it is… some of it, and perhaps he can handle that.

"I've imagined us doing things like this," you say softly, gesturing to the picnic spread. "Spending time together, talking, sharing meals. Just... being. I’ve imagined holding your hand while we walk through Gear Station, or bringing you a coffee while you work. Maybe lunch, during a busy day."

His breath hitches. That is– that is something he had not realized was a possibility. You, in the place that matters to him most. You continue on, seemingly unaware of the impact your words are having– he feels unsteady on the tracks. At risk of derailment. 

"I’ve imagined you letting me borrow your coat when it's cold, because I know you’d do it in a heartbeat."

He clears his throat, trying not to sound as flustered as he feels. "That is… correct."

He glances over. Sees your pleased grin, and the sight of it makes his heart stutter.

"And sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I imagine what it would be like if I could just rest my head against you. If you’d let me. If you’d want me to."

Ingo has no idea how to respond to that.

He tightens his grip on your hand instead, holding on to your warmth like a lifeline.

"Y/N���" he says, but nothing else follows.

He feels you lean in slightly, toeing the line of too close as your expression turns playful. Turns– knowing.

And then, in a voice so soft it barely exists, you whisper…

"But Ingo, I have also imagined kissing you."

His body jerks.

His mind goes utterly blank.

The words should not be scandalous. He should not be this affected. But he is.

It is too much.

Yet it is perfect.

He grips your hand tighter. Not exactly in panic. He just– cannot let go.

You watch him, waiting. Giving him space, giving him time.

"I just thought you should know," you say, so, so gently. Then you lean out of his space, as if you have not just derailed his engine entirely. "Now, do you want another berry skewer? Or should we go check on the Pokémon?"

Ingo does not know how to answer.

He cannot answer.

All he knows is that he is still holding your hand, and despite everything, despite how overwhelmed he is… he does not want to let go.

[insomniaflarrow]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @elodiah!!

I have a feeling this one might never make it out of the drafts folder, so a slightly larger snippet.

“C’mon, up we get,” Mobius says, hoisting Loki upwards, a hand creeping around his shoulders and pulling until he gives in and stumbles to his feet. Once upright, he sags against the wall rather than the man opposite, struggling against the heaviness. Already he feels as though falling back to the ground would not be so terrible a plan, if it allows him to regain any measure of awareness. A nap would also not go amiss.

Perhaps combining the two – in which case, napping on the floor should be his logical next step.

Mobius, on the other hand, has other ideas. He finishes barking an order over his shoulder, the finer details lost in the long, winding path that has formed between Loki’s senses and his mind, then turns to face him. “Geez, that was quite the hit,” he says, and even Loki can make out the way his brow furrows, worry lines forming on his forehead, “got here just in time to see you go flying.”

“I’m fine,” he breathes, wheezing through the words.

"You don't look fine," Mobius insists. "You're shaking." He reaches out and grasps Loki's chin firmly, pulling him forwards and tilting his head from side to side.

"What in the realms do you think you're doing?" Loki snaps, his attempts to pull away halted not by the grip keeping him still, but by the weight of the gaze pinning him there, an intensity behind Mobius' eyes he's not seen before.

It's late, so open tag for anyone who would like to join in! :D

[fonteyn]

[toytle]

a lot of comic art would benefit from sticking to the flatcolors

[dwellsinthebog]

*butchbeams sanemi*

sometimes a man is actually a she/he/they bisexual baddie and i think thats beautiful for her

[cheaploafs]

no fights are ever won without sacrifice

[sluckythewizard]

[PUT INTO PLACE, TIED DOWN AND ARRANGED, AND IS NEVER THE SAME, AGAIN.]<-listen to my favorite songs. VAMPIRES ARE WONDERFUL ARENT THEY. THE FLESH IS SO MUCH MORE DURABLE. SO MUCH STRETCHIER THAN HUMANS. THE STRESS DOESNT KILL A VAMPIRE THE SAME WAY IT DOES A HUMAN. YOU CAN TAKE THEM APART THREAD BY THREAD AND LEAVE THEM WIDE AWAKE WITHOUT WORRY OF THE BRAINMATTER SPOILING UNDER VINEGARY AGONY.

[puppetmaster13u]

You may regret this @phoenixcatch7 lol, what if I start spamming you /j

Less cryptid Batman in this particular WIP since it's semi-outsider pov lol (one of two outside person not unnerved by them lol)

🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇

   Clark knew Batman wasn’t human, even before that disaster of a mission where he had let it slip to the others. 

   He’d known for a long time, from one of their early meetups, when Batman had first referred to him as Clark Kent instead of Kal-El, and he had panicked. He hadn’t ever lied to his teammates when he said that the cloak prevented him from seeing his body, but his ears still worked. 

   He’d tried to listen to a heartbeat, to see if his at the time temporary ally was lying when he stated he wasn’t going to tell anyone and… Nothing. There was no heartbeat, no breathing, nothing even remotely human, and if he didn’t know any better, nothing even remotely alive about the silence. 

   He couldn’t help but to pay attention more, to seek out the strange almost silence-feeling that accompanied the Gotham vigilante each time he felt it. It was… almost comforting, like the swaying of branches and the rustling of cloth over stone. Familiar, compared to the hustle and bustle surrounding him in the city. 

   The first thing he had noticed, physically that is, was Batman’s ears. Previously he’d thought the man unemotional, what with the rough voice, expressionless white eyes, cloak-covered body and the gas mask covering a good chunk of his face. 

   Yet the longer he watched, even idly, the more he noticed that while the man’s face or body didn’t show much, his ears did. 

   While Batman could stay silent and still for hours, the long ears twitched and swiveled, catching on the hood that he’d always wear around them. They’d pin back sometimes, a near silent sound he couldn’t quite place accompanying the movement, while other times they’d twist a near full three-sixty, as though searching for whatever sound it had caught. 

   Sometimes, when he’d startled the other vigilante, there’d be rattling noise, like wood and metal clacking together before it was cut off. It was a strange sound, one he’d not heard anywhere else, except with his… friend. 

   Were they friends? He’d like to think so. 

   The next time he was reminded that his friend wasn’t human was when he saw him get injured. It hadn’t been a bad injury, even if the Gothamite’s head had hit the wall with a very loud cracking noise, but he’d still smelled what he’d eventually come to recognize as blood. There was an almost pickle-like scent to it though that wasn’t quite it either. 

   Honestly the closest he could think of describing it was some sort of formaldehyde. And once he focused, he could pick out other things beneath it. Maybe not flesh and blood in the traditional sense, but still. 

   There was always that scent of cloth and wood, but he could smell the black liquid, paint, a metallic thing underneath like iron and steel. No heartbeat, no breath, but life all the same. It was honestly beautiful in a way, like a part of the city the other vigilante called home had come to life. 

   And it wasn’t like Batman minded whenever his own human mask slipped. Clark may have been raised by his Ma and Pa, whom he loved, but it didn’t make his body any more human in nature. There were just some things that he couldn’t change, and it took effort to move like one all day as a civilian when his body wasn’t designed to do so.

   So he stayed quiet for the most part when their group of three grew, and people started to speculate. He diverted the conversations whenever it turned to him, lightly admonishing over the various rumors. 

   It didn’t matter if Batman wasn’t human, he was still his friend, their ally and teammate. Was he curious? Oh of course, he’d gone into journalism for a reason after all, but it was still his friend. If he wanted to tell, he’d tell, and Clark wouldn’t break his trust. 

[nettleparade]

oh right i forgot to post this here

[thetwilightroadtonightfall]

on this month’s Project E wip: the girls are fightinggg having a mature discussion

[baeshijima]

after much deliberation (it was procrastination), reca is officially on the hsr celeb au fic....

stares forlornly out into the sea...

[ratatatastic]

do you write fic on ao3?

unfortunately for everyone involved i do!