#but I don’t have the energy to write

[indiaalphawhiskey]

“Perhaps,” Colin said, and the word itself tasted so bitter on his tongue, it was as though he was compelled into spitting all the others out of his mouth, just to finally rid himself of the poison of them, “that was another part of your… entrapment.”

His regret was instant — hot and blinding — his mind playing out the memory of her wide, curious, shining eyes as she had laid bare and vulnerable beneath him, all bashful innocence, and asked him, so earnestly, ‘Is there more?’

The sweet lilt of it echoed in his head as his pitiful lie burned through his body, shaming him. But he could not bring himself to look at her now, because he knew he could not take the accusation back — knew no apology would suffice.

“I did not mean to entrap you, Colin.” Her gentle words were pained — small, and tearful, and so full of truth. “I love you.”

Out of his periphery, he caught the shape of her lips as she said it, sweetly downturned in their devastation, in their distress.

He loved those lips.

He loved her. His Pen.

It was on the tip of his tongue, his heart steadfastly pushing it forward like a boulder through a dark cave, desperately urging the confession out of him. Only—

“I loved you enough to save you from entrapment,” she said. And maybe, had he not been so focused on the way the earlier devastation in her voice seemed to turn determined, he would have seen it sooner: seen her slip off her ring before her warm fingers met his — the touch he had so missed, had so agonizingly craved for days, finally coming back to him in its most heart wrenching iteration. She pressed the cold metal into the palm of his clenched hand, the curves of the small pearls smooth against his skin. It might as well have been shards of broken glass.

“I love you enough,” she repeated, though it was not lost on him, the sudden change of tense — from past to present, “to save you from entrapment.”

His gaze shot to her the very moment the true meaning of her words hit him, dread solidifying at the bottom of his belly.

No, he thought, panicked.

No.

No.

No!

Again, the right words had failed him. She was gone.

[remxedmoon]

practicing self care (projecting my stims on my blorbos)

greyscale vers below the cut!

[keferon]

Monster hunter au part 9

I wanted to cook a bit more fluff before I get back to drama hehe

Previous Next

[stealingyourbones]

Never will I stop with the steadfast notion that folks in the DPXDC fandom should interact with at least some form of canon DC media.

There are comics, tv shows, radio dramas both old and new, podcasts, movies, magazines, so much shit that intentionally avoiding the media is simply preventing yourself from spawning new ideas and gaining a new appreciation for a fandom that you’re already in.

The Superman Radio Show has episodes 11 minutes long. A lot of the TV shows don’t have episodes that surpass 30 minutes and most are nearly fully clipped on the official DC YouTube channel. The amount of fan made motion comics is astounding. The amount of fanmade animations is equally as incredible.

[puckinghischier]

https://www.tumblr.com/puckinghischier/766626512832266240/hiiiiii-ive-come-to-beg-for-crumbs-lol-seeing

thinking about this for no reason tonight…quinn getting home extra pissed bc he got ejected and you aren’t helping, prancing around in only his jersey doing everything you can to get him to take his anger out on you again

you watched the whole thing happen from the tv in the hotel room, choosing to stay in tonight because it was so cold out. you hate to say it, but you were turned on the second you saw him looking down at the player on the ice, jabbing his stick around after the play had already stopped.

you knew he’d be back early, having already texted you that he’s forgoing any media because he just wants a hot shower and some greasy take out. you had other plans, however. you knew he’d have some pent up feelings. he always tries to hide how frustrated he really is, not wanting to set a bad example for any young captains or players watching. so, you decide to use it to your advantage.

you strip yourself from your clothes, walking over and rummaging through quinn’s game bag. you find the clean, black, skate jersey tucked away inside, and slip it over your bare body. you sprawl yourself out across the large bed, jersey ridden up just enough so your ass peeks out. you lay there in wait, wanting to be nothing more than his stress reliever tonight.

when he finally makes his way into the room, he tosses his bag down at the door and stalks towards the bathroom. he doesn’t even look your way, shutting the door and turning the shower on. shock and disappointment clouds your features, a small bit of embarrassment settling in your stomach. you stay put, though. waiting. surely when he sees you, he’ll pounce.

he emerges from the small bathroom twenty minutes later, towel wrapped around his waist. he looks at you on the bed, noticing your state.

“why are you wearing my skate jersey?” he asks, not hinting at whether he’s pleased or not.

you shrug. “just…felt like it,” you try to sound sultry and seductive, letting him know what you want.

he stands and stares for a moment before shaking himself out of the trance, walking over to grab a pair of black boxer briefs from his suitcase, dropping the towel and sliding them up his legs before you can even appreciate his bare ass on display.

“did you find anywhere that’s still open and sounds good? m’starving,” he asks you, not bothering to put sweats or a shirt on.

“not yet…didn’t know if maybe you wanted something…sweeter to eat,” you roll over, spreading your legs slightly, giving him a glimpse of your damp pussy.

he sighs out, closing his eyes and pinching his nose while tilting his head up. your embarrassment creeps back in, picking up that he clearly doesn’t want to do this tonight.

you sit up, tugging his jersey down to cover yourself, cheeks flushed and eyes stinging with oncoming tears you will yourself not to drop.

“s-sorry. i’ll…uh…go look up some menus on my phone,” you whisper out, not meeting his eyes as you stand.

you don’t see the way his eyes snap open to look at you, the embarrassed and dejected tone causing alarms to go off in his head.

he reaches out and grabs your arm as you try to walk past him, stopping you in your tracks. placing both hands on your biceps under his jersey, he turns your body to face his, a soft “look at me,” forcing your attention to his face.

he brings a hand up to push a strand of hair out of your face, letting his hand trail down your face before finding its previous spot on your arm.

“m’sorry, didn’t mean to embarrass you. s’just…not this time,” he tells you, squeezing the soft flesh of your arms.

you nod, but you need to know if it’s you, or if he’s just really not in the mood. “was…,” you trail off, not knowing if you can handle the answer if it’s not in your favor. “was the jersey too much? just thought, i don’t know…you always say how much you like seeing me in them, and figured you’d need some…stress relief after tonight, so…” you leave the sentence open ended, assuming he understands what you’re not saying.

he chuckles out a dry laugh. “baby, i love seeing you in my jerseys so much, you have no idea,” he lets his gaze travel down to the way your body is swallowed by the black fabric. “but, i don’t trust myself with you tonight,” he confesses, looking back up at your surprised face.

“quinn, i trust you. i do. i know you’d never go too far, or do anything i wasn’t comfortable with,” you rush out, your hands flying up to grip both of his forearms.

he shakes his head, letting it drop. “sweetheart, you have no idea how much i’d love to have my way with you tonight, but i’m so pissed off. so mad at how tonight went. and the fact the team acted like they didn’t even need me?” you can see his eyes darkening the longer he talks, his grip on your arms tightening with each word. “can’t promise what would happen. how rough i’d be. don’t want to hurt you, or worse, scare you off,” he snaps out of his little trance, his grip loosening, but not before you whimpered at the burning squeeze.

it’s your turn to shake your head at him, hands leaning his arms to touch his face.

“q, please, i promise you won’t scare me off, or hurt me. i know my limits, and so do you. i trust you. trust yourself,” you plead with him.

you can tell he’s thinking it over, watching the conversation he’s having with himself in his head.

“i-are you sure?” he asks, looking into your eyes for any sign of doubt.

“use me,” is all you say in response, leaning up on the tips of your toes to whisper the words in his ear seductively. for good measure, you lick a stripe from his ear down his jaw and to the base of his throat.

the growl that erupts from where your tongue was just exploring is carnal, shoving you back from his body towards the bed. the force catches you off guard, falling onto your back on the plush surface.

he walks the short steps towards you, hovering over you. “tell me to stop at any time, okay?” he speaks softly, but with meaning, wanting you to know you’re still the one who’s really in control here.

you nod, sighing out a “okay,” as he rests a large hand on your thigh, sliding it all the way up to your chest, bringing the jersey with it.

he teasingly pinches a nipple, earning a moan from you as you arch your back into the sensation. he looks down at your face, loving how desperate you already are for him.

“remember, you asked for this,” he reminds you, causing your breath to hitch in your throat at the hungry, dark look on his face.

‘sure did,’ you think to yourself, knowing if last time was anything to go off of, tonight, coming off of an ejection rather than a simple minor penalty, you were in for a treat.

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

Alpha!Eddie Munson being asked to help fellow Alpha! Steve Harrington’s knot to stay down longer during sex. As the second Steve gets inside an omega his knot immediately pops. Eddie agrees to help under the conditions that he gets to decide when and where he helps train Steves knot. Of course a few sessions go by with no luck, up until Eddie decides playing with the others prostate could possibly help.

Now Steve doesn't understand how the staffs area of scoops ahoy was the perfect place to test this out for the first time, and he kinds of regrets agreeing to this. Not because he doesn't enjoy it, but because he has to stay silent.

His shorts are currently down to his ankles and his hand’s covered tightly over his mouth as tears roll down his face. His legs are spread out as his cock is pressed uncomfortably between his stomach and the table. Their goal of having him last longer than a second has been met but now his knot is swollen and cock is leaking more precum at each thrust from behind.

Eddie’s purposely thrusting against his prostate. His own Knot starting to catch against Steve’s rim.

Steves very close to having the best orgasm of his life when Eddie pulls out, flips him over and jerks off all over Steve’s agitated knot. Then proceeds to pull Steve’s shorts up, pat him on the ass to be on his way.

“You just told me to help you not knot immediately. Never asked me to teach you how to cum properly big boy.”

[cynicatalyst]

Small Yautja meme comp

[tired-all-the-time22]

ヒアソビ - Camellia ft. Hatsune Miku

“In this one-night-only fantasia,

I’m scorching my fingers in the dissatisfaction”

^ Fic inspiration from this song, idea below v

+7/8/2023 update at the end

mistaken identity fic based on the knowledge that red son is unaware of MK’s monkie form. MK sneaks into a demon gala/formal event to crash any demon shenanigans (aka hang out with red son) any does so by using his monkie form. He finds red son, who, by some miracle, finds Mk completely unrecognizable and assumes that MK is a suitor or a kind of representative wanting to make ties with the demon bull family.

However red son, at this time harboring a crush for MK and possibly pining over him for a while, still recognizes enough features to see a resemblance to MK. Feeling as if he could never actually date MK himself, red son decides to try for second best and ends up flirting with what he believes to be a monkie demon Mk-lookalike. MK, while he does pick up that something is a little odd with the situation, shrugs it off and reciprocates red son’s flirting, ending up in them making mayhem and having cliche formal event-dancing-lights-shipping moments.

The night ends in MK feeling like their relationship has grown (possibly to something more, he hopes), and red son believing he’s fixed his ‘half-sided’ pining issue.

Imo this could be a funny fic like From Three Thirty to Four by Pittedpeaches (will always plug this fic bc it’s awesome and if you haven’t already read it go and do that now bc it’s hilarious) where MK and red son keep coincidentally only meeting like this when MK’s in monkie form and shenanigans ensue,

But alternatively I did originally imagine this as a kind of angst hurt/comfort fic where red son starts to feel dissatisfied with his ‘replacement’ and deals with feeling guilty about dating someone he feels is so similar to Mk while also remaining friends/enemies with him. They would eventually actually get together in the end, but I like hurt/comfort fics so making this art was fun. ^^

July 8th Update - I have decided to write a single chapter for this idea and here is the announcement post for more info - fic isn’t posted yet but if you guys want more when it is make sure to comment/reblog telling me so ^^

[overthinkinglotr]

People always say “Thorin could never retire in the Shire because he has to be King” — and I think the funniest way to handle that plotline would be for Bilbo to convince Thorin to eliminate the monarchy.

Bilbo has lived all his life in the Shire, where they elect their main leaders in a democratic system. Thorin is the first king he ever meets. Bilbo would initially think monarchy was very storybook-like and fantastical, like the things he’s read about in tales from distant lands…..but he would quickly find the reality of monarchy underwhelming, baffling, and annoying. Thorin/ Thranduil/Bard would make Bilbo decide that all monarchies are terrible. Being a king makes you self-important, haughty, greedy, and warlike. Kings are too powerful and use that power to fight over utter nonsense. They’ve got no one to keep their stubbornness in check. He would come to decide that the Shire really did have it right by holding elections.

I’m imagining a scene where Thorin dramatically confesses “I suffer under the burden of my duties; heavy is the head that bears a crown” and Bilbo flatly responds “don’t be king, then. >:/Elect someone else. If your people don’t want you then they won’t choose you! Im very tired of this whole affair and I wish I were back in the Shire, where folk are more reasonable >:(“

Thorin is enchanted by the strange foreign Hobbit custom of “elected leaders.” He has never considered this as a possibility. Overwhelmed by the Hobbit’s wisdom after the Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin converts his kingdom into a democratic republic and retires from public life.

This causes a domino effect. Other kingdoms across Middle Earth are inspired by Erebor’s example, and band together to reject their monarchical systems. Revolutions ensue.

Thorin’s consort “Bilbo Baggins,” known only as “the dwarf-king’s advisor who first set off this wave of revolutions,” becomes one of the most controversial and reviled people in all of Middle Earth. Bilbo becomes a figure of mythic proportions, loved by the democratic republicans and despised by the royalists, each of which invents their own wild legends.

To the democratic republicans “The Great Baggins” is glorified as a great warrior sent from Valinor to restore the long-forgotten wisdom borne out of The West— he snaps his fingers and with a poof of smoke he washes away all the old corrupt systems of the world, just as the Valar washed away Numenor.

But to the royalists, “The Mad Baggins” is a scheming shadowy monster who crawled up from the deep places of the world to burn the very foundations of Middle Earth to the ground; he’s a monster more powerful and terrible than a dragon or a balrog, who threatened Thorin into submission and brought the world into chaos. he snaps his fingers and monarchies collapse in a puff of smoke.

Meanwhile elderly Bilbo grumpily putters around the Shire with Thorin, mostly oblivious to all of this.

[xeemaee]

Dungeon Meshi Labru AU where Kabru is a private investigator who someone (idk lets say Toshiro) hires to follow Laios around but then Kabru becomes obsessed with Laios full on with a pin board with thread and everything.

[durchdenspiegel]

28.03.2024

A little over a month left to finish my BA thesis, so in reality, a few weeks to get a decent product to send to my friends to read over… I am determined to actually have a first draft at the end of the week (utopian) because I really want some space to breathe before the next semester sweeps me up again.

Roughly one third written - I‘m testing if „study with me“ videos help me stay productive long term to meet my goal 😮‍💨

[nateezfics]

i haven’t been the same since this man picked up that electric guitar…

[stealingyourbones]

(Here’s a quick idea I jotted down a month or so ago and never elaborated on. Lost the energy to expand upon it so have the rough draft)

Time is a tad loose in the Zone. Danny goes to Frostbite for his yearly checkup and decides to spend the weekend there and meet some of Frostbite’s extended family.

Exiting the portal he arrived in a new dimension. One where his family hasn’t been alive for dozens of years. The only lineage that still exists of Jazz Fenton’s bloodline is a metropolis photographer by the name of Jimmy Olsen

[hopelesslonelyghost]

something something bodyguard! ghost tasked in keeping you safe from a stalker but turns out he’s the stalker >:)

and now you’re both alone in a secluded cabin, far far away from anyone. where no one can hear you beg and cry

keep screamin’ love, it only gets ‘im harder.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

🩷💜💙

[bazpango]

A lawlight fan fiction where the NPA’s benefits package includes—mandatory—counselling sessions (their job is emotionally taxing) but they can’t use them because it’s too much of a risk to the task force’s objective in catching Kira:

Matsuda waltzes in with a stack of notebooks under his arm. “I read in Good Housekeeping that journaling lowers stress!” L groans. Soichiro—desperate for any crumb of autonomy in this investigation—fully endorsed the idea.

Light freaks. If anyone finds the Death Note and they hire a graphologist, the first samples they’ll want to compare will be his—if L has anything to say about it. He has to be careful. This will be a burdensome paper trail. With a second (well, third) notebook to keep track of, the mental load is at risk of becoming dangerously heavy—for even the best of liars.

Every morning and evening the team journals for thirty minutes; they are locked away in a safe at all other times. It becomes a sort of ritual for clocking in and out of work.

Light is meticulous. Holding his pen off-kilter to throw off the curves and edges of his penmanship. He takes to journaling like he’s penning the world’s most mundane, most detailed, most virtuous autobiography.

L’s notes on the other hand are borderline illegible. Each entry is merely one or two sentences at most. Sometimes just a word, or a string of numbers.

Strawberries too tart today, taste terrible

He is Kira

1600. 50? …

Misa Light-kun’s girlfriend

Watari. HQ. microwave mud cake?

Light-kun did not kiss Misa back

L feels it, something quiet and scheming in the man sitting beside him. He tugs on his tie. It’s something new, since they’ve started journaling.

Weeks go by. One night, he tiptoes down to HQ hoping to break into the safe and confirm his suspicions; to his surprise he opens the door to find Light seated on one of the couches, flipping through his journal and scrunching his nose at it. “Light?” Caught you. “You aren’t to be here after curfew. Especially not with that.”

“You’re one to talk.” Light’s eyes scan L and then flicker to the coffee table, where his own journal sits invitingly. L’s been got, and what’s worse, Light knows it. He always knows. L wonders if he’ll ever get used to it.

“Yes, but.” L perches on the opposite sofa. “There’s no reason for you to be reading my journal. I’m not a suspect in this investigation.”

There’s plenty reason, and they both know it. If Kira can anticipate L’s hunches, he can misdirect. It’s a poor bluff, but still it’s one that Light can’t cop to.

“I suppose your right,” Light says, lips tightening into a line. He locks eyes with L and closes the journal softly, tossing it on the coffee table. L scratches at his wrist, where the handcuff used to be. Questioning if this opportunity would be wasted by fighting fire with fire.

“Perhaps my journal offered some insight. I was thinking the same about yours,” L mutters, “…Kira is my white whale, I suppose.”

“But I’m not Kira.”

“Yes, you keep saying that.”

Light crosses one leg over the other. “And Captain Ahab isn’t someone to aspire to. I’d be careful Ryuuzaki,” he warns; sounding perfectly concerned as a friend ought to be, “or the task force might begin to question your aptitude. You’re beginning to sound obsessed.”

Snide bastard.

“And what of you, Light?”

Light stiffens. So begins the spar.

“Do you shed the work day off in the shower with ease? Is your sleep dreamless, or do you comb through evidence you might have missed? You are tasked to help us hunt down the most prolific serial killer to ever walk this Earth, and…” he raises a thumb to his teeth, “surely that can’t be accomplished between the hours of 9 to 5, even for someone as brilliant as yourself.”

He’s monologuing now. Leaning forward. Dangling the fish hook and begging that Light takes the bait.

“That would be a most incredible feat for any man,” L says. He’s got Light right where he wants him, wide eyed and stubbornly still. Careful not to reveal any tells, which is one in and of itself. “But you don’t see yourself as one, do you?”

Light scoffs. “What are you asking, Ryuuzaki?”

It’s a ruse. Light always knows exactly what he’s saying, and does this stupid little dance with him anyway because he knows he can. L normally quite enjoys it, but tonight he’s had it and he isn’t sure why. He stands, only to step across the coffee table and plant his foot on one side of Light, the other soon to follow on the other side. Light instinctively recoils until his back is flush with the back cushion. It isn’t quite straddling, because L is still quite hunched overtop of him. But it is an intimidating closeness. Obsessive, even.

“I’m asking,” L mutters, eyes darting back and forth between Light’s, “if you think yourself God, or man.”

He’s still an immovable force, a statue underneath him. But there’s a flush of pink to his cheeks. So, you are human after all.

“This is ridiculous!” Light huffs, wiggling, and for the first time there’s a tinge of urgency to it. “You’re not getting a false confession out of me, pulling a stunt like this.”

“That is not my intention.”

“Then what is?”

“Have I not made that clear?” L asks, and the patronizing tone gives Light significant pause. L looks at the wetness of Light’s lower lip and bites that thumb between his teeth. “…Or have you just tricked me into thinking you’re smarter than you actually are?”

Light, ego bruised and bested, smashes their lips together. He plays dirty, and spars with him until their lips are swollen and there is a tinny, metallic flavour on both their tongues.

God, man, monster. Whichever he is, L likes the taste.