#i am working on drafts

[pridetempt]

a wild lucifer appears !! do you...

[forsworned]

Being the only female on TF141 is like Simon constantly scolding you for getting into sheningans with Johnny and Kyle while Price sits on his arm chair with a good book, whiskey in hand and him puffing out smoke like a chimney from his cigar like the daddy he is.

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"Cos I fockin' said so."

You cock an amused brow at him as you look up from the embarrassingly cute photo of the skull-masked behemoth fast sleep and cuddling your Hello Kitty plushie. "Cos y'fockin' said so?" You mock his gravelly Manchester accent and it sends Johnny and Kyle into a fit of giggles. And even Price is chuffed by it. It's contagious really.

It lets your guard down enough for him to yank your phone out of your hand deleting the picture with a swiftness that made your eyes ream and your heart jump. You all groan and jeer at him for being a poor sport but he's quite satisfied with himself. Little does he know, you have a few copies of it in your desktop.

[hughmanbean]

Loving Threats

Inspired by a song and its remake. But I am trash at syncing lyrics to storybeats.

Danny and Jason met in the ghost zone when Jason was dead, but he forgot it all coming back to life. When the two of them were together, they went through the entire song and dance (literally) of asking each other out.

I'm serious. There were like 10 different musical scenes with varying themes. It was Fenton Romance at its finest. And Jason's old school romance heart was certainly played a large part too.

It was their love language. Dramatic acts, vague threats and all.

Post revival and reconnection with the Batfam, Jason spots a familiar face. A flood of memories wash through him, and with it a bout of giddiness. Though he's currently dressed as Red Hood, Danny'll be able to tell who he is and keep quiet. Just have to greet him in a way that he'll recognize.

---

Danny is out taking the kids for a walk. Dan was grumpy since he wasn't allowed any ecto chips, for both his health and as punishment for severely beating a guy who tried to mug Danny without permission yesterday. Ellie is quite cheerful, since she's going to visit the Crocodile and Zombie sewer-dudes when Danny's not looking.

All of a sudden, Red Hood, casually wielding a gun, approaches Danny. He makes an overly familiar gesture, wrapping an arm sideways around Danny's waist. He whistles under the hood, a faint green glow from the white eyespaces.

"Well who do we have here? You look half dead, honey."

Danny looked at him. Horrible pick up line? Check? Thin veneer of confidence? Check. Zero self control around Danny? Check.

Jason. The rancid ecto signature is new, though. Honestly, not surprised he's a crime lord now.

"Well, you know how it is. The kids have been running me ragged. And you sure haven't been any help."

Danny puts on an innocent smile. Jason sidles closer. A few bystanders watch them with varied expressions.

"Well you don't need to worry about that now. How about you and I go somewhere more private?"

---

"A crime boss, huh?"

Dan is raiding the fridge. Ellie is watching a fight on TV.

"It was a... necessary step. I promise I would've visited you sooner if I had known."

"It's fine. What else happened while you were gone?"

"Well..."

[crescentfool]

december 31st but i make it silly (based on a tumblr post, below the cut!)

everyone say thank you xenia, i made adjustments for the december 31st context but nyx avatar is still fitting.

original draft of the last panel. i considered putting the bi flag but i didn't know how to squeeze it in. we love ryoji mochizuki in this house.

[garoujo]

gojo loves the marks you leave behind on his skin. it’s like they’re proof you were there, underneath him as he presses his cock deeper into the tight hug of your pussy— feeling your nails burn vermillion lines along the smooth skin of his back and shoulders with every orgasm he pulls from you.

he likes to admire them in the mirror, feeling a little smug despite the way he hisses when the steady stream from the shower head makes them burn slightly — aching everytime he’s trying to sleep at night.

but with every little shock of pain, gojo can remember the pretty face you made as your walls hugged around him— crying out his name in quick pants as his hips smacked against yours and he wouldn’t call himself a masochist but he loves it. he loves you.

even when he’s got you bouncing on his lap, his long fingers squeezing into the space where your thigh meets your hips, he’s intoxicated by the way you bury your face into the crook of his neck— his free palm curling at the back of your head, pressing you deeper until he can feel your teeth nipping at the skin there. his crystalline eyes almost roll back, snowy peaks of his hair framing his flushed features and he’s never came as hard or as fast as he did when you laved your tongue over the blooming marks you left across his throat.

gojo can’t help but press his fingers against them as he looks at himself in the mirror, hissing at the sting but he sees it as a silent little claim — teasing you about it later on, about how you “want everyone to know i’m yours, huh sweet thing? ‘ts cause i’m so handsome, right?”

[xxplastic-cubexx]

They got divorced again

[tothebestofmyabilities]

[seo-changbinnies]

my favorite binnie looks (283/∞)

[demaparbat-hp]

Oh, Lala...

[epiaphany]

3x11 / 8x11

[hinamie]

hhmmmmm uh im dusting the cobwebs off my brain trying 2 come up w something interestinf uhh.......anything non spoiler-y you can discuss w regards to geto in the atla au perchance?

hi rin !!!!! tysm fr sending i hope u r doing well <3

atla geto lore fr u courtesy of sam:

he's a waterbender from the northern water tribe. he can bloodbend but finds it distasteful

he gave gojo the betrothal necklace/proposed to him when they were 20 (all of the adult characters are aged up in the fic vs jjk canon ages)

all of his decisions are driven by a desire to lighten the burden placed on gojo's shoulders

aaaaand atla geto draws fr u courtesy of Me :3

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[surreal-duck]

@midoyuzuweek day 6 | angst / ghosts

ghostic au yet again !! trying to figure out the lil ghost effect was a bit of a hassle but i like how it came out :]

[chayatorns]

NGERN ANUPART LUANGSODSAI AS ARTHIT IN FOUREVER YOU เพราะรักนำทาง (2024)

[zarnzarn]

lamb who kills the one who waits when the time comes to decide, furious and betrayed at being asked to lay down their life after everything they'd done, after-

they kill him, and don't stop to see what happens to the body, carried away by their celebrating followers. They rejoice the whole day, of a final victory against evil, riling each other up to the heights of joy and mania until late in the night.

And then Lamb goes to bed and blows out the lamp and the their decision finally sinks in.

what have they done.

they wake the next day trembling from forgotten nightmares, overheating as they make their way through the day's chores, blank-faced and numb. the call to sermon is waved off in face of a headache, as they try not to think about how much of what they preach no longer is relevant.

the week passes in a haze- they unthinkingly leave offerings in the wooden chest until they rot in the summer noon; call out the rituals in Narinder's language and pretend the power isn't fainter than usual, go on a crusade to get their mind off things- except the last is the worst of it all, because the crown's eye is pale pink, pupil fat with power, instead of the crimson cat-eye that Lamb is used to, and there's no getting away from the fact on how silent it is when no one is watching behind it.

how silent it is because no one is there.

yet somehow worse still is-

"hope you feel better soon, leader!" a younger follower says, tucking a camelia into their wool. they know they've been distant lately, avoiding worries left right and centre. "praise the one! he'll make everything alright."

it's like a hammer to the chest, leaving them breathless and stunned, to realise- they never commissioned a statue of Narinder, after all these years. so stubborn in only leaving the crimson eye scratched around the cult grounds as his symbol until he found an artist worthy of Lamb sharing the image of the god of death, that-

no one else except the lamb knew what narinder looked like. they had no idea whose defeat they'd celebrated.

no one but Lamb remembers their god.

..

it gets harder after that.

Lamb isn't sure how many people have left the cult by the time the Mystic Seller's demand comes through, to save what's left of the Bishops from endless purgatory, before their violent shadows disrupted the fabric of the four realms.

They stare, speechless and disbelieving, at the outrageous ask, before it suddenly sinks in that-

The bishops.

The bishops.

They run through the lands once more with eagerness, sword slashing harder each time, ruthless and relentless in their kills. They reconquer Leshy and Heket brutally, curtly setting out the terms when they are diminished back to mortal and forced to stay in the cult. They agree, and agree to keeping their peace as well when Kallamar and Shamura join them, surrounded by a cult that's flourishing once more, waiting eagerly for a familiar stranger. Lamb tells stories around the fire about The One Who Waits, watches the smiles on their followers' faces reappear, the ones who had fled their anger and depression slowly making their way back to the flock, and the cult grows back to its full potential once more.

And then Lamb runs up the stairs when it's all ready and beautiful and welcoming, beams at the Seller as they wait for their instructions.

The Seller frowns. "Yes?"

Lamb tilts their head, rusted bell on their neck tinkling. It had broken the day after Narinder's defeat, the collar finally fluttering to the ground in tatters like a cloth of eighty years should; but Lamb had repaired and maintained and polished it until it wrapped proud around their neck once again. Their heart is beating in their chest, excitement running through their veins. They'd forgotten how it felt to be on the cusp of going to meet the One Who Waits.

"The last bishop still remains," They laugh, joy spreading through them. "I have to go get him too, yes? For the good of the universe and all."

The Mystic Seller... is silent.

"Narinder was not a Bishop," It says finally. Lamb's smile drops. "The Three-Eyed Cat had completed his ascension when he mastered the resurrection ritual. He was a God."

Lamb's heart drops to their stomach, stumbling like they've taken a hit. "What? So what? Can't I bring him back?"

The Mystic Seller tilts their head. "No."

"What do you mean no?" Lamb's nostrils flare, red crown sparking as they take a step closer. "I brought all those others back, why can't I-"

"They were the pillars of the very order of the world-"

"They were fucking MONSTERS!" Lamb shouts. "And what, death isn't?"

"It is," The Seller says, unaffected by the screaming. "But you are the Bishop of Death now. The cycle has begun again."

Lamb feels like they've taken an arrow to the chest. They stumble forward, and then to their knees. "No," they whimper. "There has- has to be some way to bring him back."

The Mystic Seller stares at them. "You were the one to kill him," They point out, and Lamb feels bile rise in their mouth as their breathing gets faster. "Why would you want him back? A thriving cult, an usurped crown, his spells in your hand-"

"Shut up," Lamb hisses.

"-you have all the power you could ever want, little sheep. Your revenge against the murder of your people."

"He wasn't the one to do it!" They shout up at the Seller, despite the hypocrisy- it had been part of their thoughts when they'd raised the axe again and again and again; the resentment of if it wasn't for you-

"No, no, no, no, no," They whimper, holding onto their biceps and shaking. "Narinder."

It is the first time they have said his name in five years. That realization is what makes the tears finally fall.

Their throat is hoarse when they finish, eyes swollen and blood pooled around them, skin already healing back to perfection where they had clawed through. The Mystic Seller stares at them and sways, silent.

"No," The Lamb finally says, and gets up, determined. Walks past the Seller, to the door behind, leading to the Gateway.

They wonder how they never realized. Or maybe they did, and were just lying to themselves that they didn't.

Lamb reaches the crater, with the rusted chains and wooden crucifixes rising out from the fog around it and comes to a halt.

Narinder is exactly where they left him.

Bones only now. Blackened by all the rituals he performed, he'd told them once; perfectly placed, like he had just fallen.

Lamb still has the ointment they made with their first cult sitting in the back of their cupboard, back when they were naive enough to think it would only take months. Ointment spelled to help grow back the fur on his rotting arms, worn to nothing by a thousand years of pulling at the chains and them tightening on him every time he moved in response.

The skull could be anyone's, now.

Two ribs are broken, where Lamb's axe went through. Straight to the heart.

Lamb exhales and shakily kneels to the ground, lowering himself to Narinder's side, careful to not dislodge a single bone out of place, and molds their body around the skeleton in a perverse mockery of a lover's embrace. Violently, abruptly, they want that, so much it burns- Narinder's arms holding the close one last time. It feels unbearable, to have- to have him lowered to meet Lamb at his level, to have him attainable instead of a towering, unreachable, terrible eldritch horror, and for him to be dead.

Oh, Lamb thinks, shaking as tears form in their eyes. Oh, I loved you. I love you.

"Darling," They choke out, tracing one cheekbone. "My baby. My one. My death. Come back, will you?"

Narinder opens his eyes and shoots them an unimpressed look. Lamb sobs, shoulders heaving, gasping as claws embed themselves in their throat- whole, complete, strong, paw soft as a cloud, faint markings on the fur Lamb never knew he had now drenched with blood.

They laugh, smiling through the tears as they push forward into the claws, flesh ripping and tearing as they push their mouth closer to Narinder's.

"I am sorry," They whisper. Narinder growls. "i love you."

"Traitor-"

"Fuck the crown," Lamb breathes back, moving to straddle Narinder to interrupt him, keeping the weight on their own knees to not damage his healing ribs. His claws are still in their throat, tangled in their stitches. "Fuck the power. Fuck the cult. Fuck religion. I only ever wanted you."

Narinder stills, looking up at them with sharp eyes. Lamb laughs around his beloved's fingers. "I only ever want you. What is life without you, Antim?"

Narinder studies them. Lamb waits, bloodied and grinning, patiently waiting, smitten to have those beautiful trifecta eyes upon them once more.

"I promised you," They whisper. "I promised to break you out of here. Let me, my one. My only one, who has waited so long."

Narinder takes a breath, tilting his chin down and then up. His claws twitch in Lamb's vocal chords, drawing them down closer to him.

Lamb whoops in joy and reaches up to toss the crown to the side, fitting their hooves to the last chain wrapped around Narinder's neck, binding him still to the Gateway, and splinters it into a thousand pieces, never to hold anyone ever again.

"Come," The Lamb whispers finally, moving back and gathering their lover up in their arms, still pressing their mouths together. "Let me take you home, Narinder. Mere jaan. Meri mrityu. My one."

Narinder sighs and buries his face in the crook of Lamb's neck as they start to walk away. "Turn back around, idiot. We cannot leave without the damned crown. And I am picking out the wedding decorations."

"Of course, my love," Lamb coos, and leans in again to kiss their greatest mistake.

[roadstostray]

ooo you want to hand me your favorite phanfics so bad ooo

[tordoise-x3]

Just my drawigs from today cuz I haven’t been finishing anything 😞