#im gonna post this on ao3 too i think

[sidethatyoudontknow]

In the middle of all this 457 chaos there's me that lowkey ships junho and the salesman/ the recruiter/ddakji guy or whatever you're calling him

I mean have you look at them, imagine the banter we could've got

Like there's junho, a detective who's been trying to find his brother only to be led up to a brutal kids game competition in some sketchy island and also finds out the person who controls the said game is his very own brother that he's been searching for a long time that is also a previous winner in the game

And then there's the salesman (some people call him ddakji or dak ho) who's been trained to kill, to see people that played the games is lower than him like a trash since he was a teenager probably, who doesn't even know the purpose of life anymore, a literal mess, a maniac. That's also probably the one that recruit junho's brother into playing the games(a theory not sure if that would makes sense)

Just imagine that, I could write a few headcanons if anyone interested

And yes yes I know they didn't even interacted once for SHIT(and the only time they ever see one another was when one of them already died and the one died never also see him or does he?)

[the-heron]

congrats 2 henry peglar for being the only bitch confirmed as to be Fucking That Old Man

[rat-rosemary]

To come back to your arms, to lay warm once more

It's always odd to see Dream lounging like this, to find his God (because this is his God. No matter how much the castles scream and tear and twist, this is his God) laying on a sun beam, casually leaning against a rock.

When Karl read about other gods, when he heard people talk about theirs, they were always untouchable by mortals, living far away on their golden palaces. Not like Dream, with paws stained of dirt and scars. A being made of flesh and blood like any of them.

He wonders if those devouts can hear their gods' heartbeat.

"Are you trying to look poisonous?"

Karl snapped back into attention, focusing back on Dream's face from where his eyes had drifted to the God's... other features.

"What?"

"You have color splashes all over your back. Are you trying to look poisonous Karl?"

Did he? He hadn't noticed, but the in-between has a habit of trying to shove it's hands into Karl's form, trying to reshape him.

(Somewhere under the fog in his mind something shuttered, something that could remember screamed at the mere idea, at the implications. Karl was too tired to listen to it.)

He took of his black and white hoodie, walking to a nearby stream and looking at his reflection in the water.

Truly, there were splashes of color on him, looking like someone had violently slammed a paintbrush against his ribs.

"You don't look poisonous Karl. The colors are too muddied, they make you look sick."

Karl jumped. He hadn't noticed Dream getting up from his sunbeam and following him. That was two times that Karl wasn't paying attention and got startled, and from the look in Dream's eyes he hasn't pleased with that.

Oops.

"You did such a better job with your hair before, I don't know why you decided to change to this. The grey looks bad, makes you easy prey," Dream said, one of his hands sliding over Karl's scruff, covering the back of his neck, "let me fix it for you."

And then there was warmth flooding Karl's body, flowing into him from Dream like fresh blood as the other forced a transformation, shifting the form of his devout.

Karl felt cleansed. Exorcised of an evil that settled on him bit by bit, consuming him like a frog on boiling water.

Like waking up from a long terrible dream, like falling asleep in a warm bed after a long terrible chase.

Belatedly he realized there were tears sliding down his face as his mind cleared and sharpened, and it took a bit until he could see his reflection on the water of the stream again.

The ends of his curls were once more filled with color, less vibrant then he would personally have but such a relief after spending so long not realizing that they were gone that Karl's eyes almost blur once more.

The ugly muddy splashes across his skins have become a light brown pattern, just slightly darker then his skin, spanning down his back and on the tip of his nose like a deer's fur.

Karl laughs, desperate and fearful as all at once he feels all he has done, remember all he has forgotten, and as he feels Dream hesitantly pull his hand away Karl slams his own on top, keeping the God's hand in place.

"Karl?"

His laughter becomes maniac, his eyes closing as he curls up on himself. Shaking his head like he shake away the memories, turn everything he went through into a bad fever dream.

And then he starts sobbing, throwing himself into Dream's arms and praying that he will somehow hold him together when that being (because whatever the inbetween is, it is not a God. Karl will not give it that tittle) was trying to rip his devout away from him.

His prayers are answered and Dream pulls him closer, letting Karl hide his face on his shoulders as he sobs, the fur there growing wet in a matter of seconds.

Eventually, after what feels like eons, Karl feels himself calm, a natural exhaustion settling deep on his chest at the same time a pounding headache settles behind his forehead.

Distantly he realizes he has shifted once more.

He stops clutching Dream like someone will come drag him away, glancing down and finding colorful spots like confetti on his skin and ears floppy and long against his back as he takes shape of a rabbit, mimicking Dream's favorite form, his real true form, not the showy and impractical angel that he uses to scare away outsiders who expect something else of him.

Karl's eyes are heavy and this time he let's them fall with no fear of where he will wake up.

He is back home, in his den, safe from the claws of the hunt.

It's time to rest before the next day, before his next chase.

🐇¤🐇¤🐇¤🐇¤🐇

Inspired by this fanart I found on pinterest

The artists is @/mama gingerale but I can't tell you if they're from here or twt or if they're even active anymore

ALSO BTW IF YOU EVER SEE THIS I THINK THE MARKINGS ARE BEAUTIFUL SORRY FOR CALLING THEM UGLY AND MUDDY BUT ANGST

[cheriecoke]

i do not anticipate being on here much in november but just know i miss you all and i love you 🤍

[moreclaypigeons]

No like seriously ARE we ready to talk about the misogyny in fandom spaces

[vvv-voxtek-vvv]

guys help i sat down and suddenly ive written 1k of stolitz angst

[calamitoustide]

Did I just get an email that you just uploaded 53 fics to A03??? Bless 🙏

i mean uploaded is a strong word i reuploaded them because a) i only planned on keeping them down for a week to begin with and it's been longer than that and b) i started rereading some of my fics and found so much love for them again so i don't mind having them up

that being said if anyone is mean or gives me stupid comments again i will in fact be taking them down again i don't even care

[solarpunkani]

Minor W for the solarpunk zombie story, we finally reached the front gate of the town GOD BLESS

Already shoving other OCs into the project as minor characters

Now the problem.....

I am overthinking EVERYTHING

[jakemarcmepls]

A Thousand Deaths

Blood is gushing down his forearm and he’s breathing through it. Through the pain in his mind, more so than physical and Jake slips close enough to the front to feel his pain but not close enough to be felt. Eager to feel Marc’s pain as his own. For the blood coursing through Marc’s veins to be his. In his mouth, on his soul, on his body. Marc’s eyes are closed so he allows his head to tilt back and expose his throat, an act of submission for a man that is unaware of his existence. 

Khonshu may have been worshipped by humans for centuries but Jake would only ever fall to his knees for one man. He exhales roughly and catalogs the many red hotspots dancing on his  consciousness. A bruise on Marc’s hip where he stepped back and hit an edge, a bullet in his abdomen that Khonshu hasn’t healed yet burning the brightest, purpled and angry scars at his throat where he was choked to the point of unconsciousness, broken shin swollen and bruising weird. So many delicious little points of pain on Marc that he could soothe and bite and lick. Run his tongue over, again and again until the pain was gone, until Khonshu stopped being angry enough to remove the scars, remove the resilience of Marc’s will from his body, of all his strength and proof of his life from his being. 

He hears a stuttering breath, choked and surprised and his eyes fly open, seeking Marc’s and seeing his alarmed gaze on himself. Jake’s breath catches a little but he doesn’t disappear, draw back, make any movements because it’s not often Marc sees him, they’ve locked gazes three times in their entire lives and each time Marc thought of him as someone else. “...Steven?” Marc asks quietly, unsure, Jake adds it to the tally—four times now he’s been mistaken for someone else. A bitter, sharp pain rises in his chest and he inclines his head, doesn’t say anything. Acknowledges nothing. Marc’s eyes narrow and the tension returns to his shoulders, “...Who the hell are you?” It’s said harshly, with all the steel of a former military and all the dread of a troubled youth. 

Jake runs his gaze down his bare chest, catalogs fresh bruises and old ones alike. Before Khonshu, with Khonshu. Some left behind as punishment for things beyond Marc’s control, some for Jake’s own disobedience. Those anger him the most, and sometimes he imagines driving his hands through that beak and breaking it apart with his bare hands, for all the pain and all the idiocy Khonshu has put Marc through, for all the manipulations and all the anguish. Manipulation is fine, Jake does not care much for it nor does he respect it, but he would never be manipulated so even if Marc was naive enough to fall for something, he would be there, in the back of his mind, ready to kill for him and to save him. 

Anguish? Not even Stevie could save Marc from that pain, and that is unacceptable. That deserves death. It deserves years of torture, of blood running down the drain as he finds new places to open up and shock. Unfortunate, that his enemy is so otherworldly, and Marc may be jewish, not practising but stubborn enough to try and hold onto his traitorous family any way he can and Stevie may be fully believing, fully ready to castrate himself and use his time to think of worthless things but Jake has no need for that. It serves him no purpose, and it has never saved his beloved Marc from his pain. Humans are the reason Marc has suffered so much but Khonshu is the reason Marc continues to suffer and Jake will ensure he kills him, if it is the last thing he does. 

“...Are you listening to me? I asked who the hell are you! answer me!” Marc’s voice, and Jake looks up through his lashes and smiles. Soft, and sweet, like he has seen Stevie do so many times.

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” Then he sinks, the last thing he sees Marc’s indignation and laughs to himself. Marc is so fun. He’s so touchy, so sensitive.

[compacflt]

uhhh i don’t know how this works, but, in case i haven’t specified, my writing requests are open! idk, send me an ask, idk, i literally don’t know, and it DOES NOT have to be in my specific AU, im down for anything!!! I have some more free time now & this is a good exercise!! if u want me to write stuff, 🫡 here i am!*

* no promises i get to ur ask. But I will try my best.

[samsno1]

I GOT A COMMENT ON AO3 ASKING FOR ME TO WRITE A P.2 TO HONESTY SHOWING WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IN SACRIFICE IM SO HAPPY I CANT EVEN

AND THEY COMPLIMENTED MY WRITING

IM GONNA BURST INTO TEARS 😭

[weirdopponent]

Today she is red. Glazed in impatient strokes of mine, a gift, red like cremation, like the still-living coals.

She bows her head, a lamb, and allows me to touch her face. She shakes, but is not flinching. "I don't have to do it like this."

Grace does not say anything. Grace pushes into my hands, till they curve under her jaw. Till I can feel the shape of her skull. Till I can time the pace of blood running through her heart. She knows it was a lie - no one else will be able to love her like this, as she is, as she will be.

I break her into pieces.

I dismantle her. I smash her with my open palm until she becomes a formless crumple, blood blooming slowly with each strike. Her dark hair I hack off with safety scissors like gravestones crumbling in bad weather. Her clothes I burn in the industrial furnace - nothing I can keep, so ash it all will be.

The rest is all artifice - I do not change her skin. I open it, step inside it, wearing it, I become her. I wear a too-tight sports bra that makes my ribs ache, each breath restrained against the form, precious. And with the right shirt - it almost looks like me. The memory of her lies crumpled at my feet, an unceremonious death. It hurts like nothing else could hurt, to outlive your daughter. But that's no problem of mine.

Today I am red. My nail polish is chipping, stains the cuticles like blood. Mother looks at me like it is blood, like Grace's body lies crumpled on my feet, instead of in the lines of mine. "I am the only way she could be."

[hailsatanacab]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹 (jk U can only do one 😂)

If he were to see the monstrosity that is the Fentonworks building in Gotham, there wouldn’t be a doubt in his mind that that right there is a villain’s lair.

From the Mistaken Jason wip!

send me a🌹for a random sentence in a random wip!

[fenharel-babe]

I looked through ALL my drafts on tumble for solavellan fanfic links.

Like all my drafts and found many good ones bUT NOT THE ONE IM LOOKING FOR😭😭😭.

[izzy-b-hands]

Random blackhands (with an steddyhands ending) came to me after my shower and I physically could not get myself to sleep until I wrote this so

Usually warning to give this one a skip if you're avoiding s2 spoilers rn bc it does pull from a big scene in s2 at one point. Otherwise please have at and hopefully enjoy!!! I'm going to try and actually sleep now lol

[eudico-my-beloved]

waugh