#maybe i should stop writing

[peachesandhunii]

I finally get the urge to write and it's not any of my WIPs. It's GOT DAMN SMUT. What the hell is wrong with me 😭

[lostfirefly]

I've lived to see Tumblr tell me I don't have enough characters to update my masterlist 🤣 So I'm reorganizing it a bit 🤣

[needneedneedneedneedneed]

memories preserved to be gazed upon at will, the patience a tease of it's own. extra thought behind them, more coherent and cohesive. the tantalising aspect of what was left unsaid, left for another time to be reworked, molded

or words coming too fast, spilling out my mouth pulled faster than I can think no control. emotions unchecked, words falter as intensity grows. reaching into me, pulling them out of my throat, out of my chest. taking some of me with them. no pause, steady streams of love and devotion moving so rapidly im dizzy, nauseous, you make me so sick and I can't stop, don't want to stop don't you dare stop

steady pauses with shaky breaths, leaving me floating, calming, sinking. focused so intently on your words, waiting to devour you

[moonlightpirate]

Man have been re-reading some of my fics and ew cringe no wonder no one leaves me kudos or comments 😅 makes sense now

[cybernecromancer365]

Really thought people would like part 3 more than 2 but I guess I was wrong

[dukeofthomas]

Here's my controversial opinion; if you're trying to write Bruce as a non-abusive, good parent, you should also write him respecting his kids' privacy, boundaries, and not stalking&surveying them.

[skrunksthatwunk]

non-comprehensive haruhi autism creature comp

i mean just look at him she's literally

[thedelicatearcher]

i love when on catching fire after katniss' leg injury, she spends days with peeta working on the herbal book. and now i can't stop thinking about an alternate universe where katniss is a writer and peeta is her illustrator

[pippuns]

pre-transmigration cumplanes because they are the most divorced guys who never met

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ do you believe in love? | gojo satoru

wc: 808

summary: you’re both 23 when you first ask gojo about love.

contains: written with f!reader in mind but no pronouns are mentioned, a bit of sad, there is a swear, kind of a will-they-won’t-they, alludes to some of gojo’s possible internal struggles, might feel a bit ooc? but i like to think gojo does have serious conversations once in a while 

a/n: the kind of gojo i envision in this is inspired by all the teen dad/dad gojo fics that i’ve ever read, most notably 'teen dad gojo' by @seravphs and 'keeping up with the fushiguros' by @/augustinewrites. this isn’t an addition to any of their works, but the way they write and characterise gojo has shaped the way i understand him (and ultimately how i write him) in these little blurbs of mine :’) please do check their works out if you have the time, it’s some of my favourites!! :’)

collection masterlist: conversations on love you are here -> 02. tell me about love (show me how)

“Do you believe in love?” 

You don’t think he hears you at first, but that’s impossible; the night is quiet, with only you and Gojo sitting by the steps of the dormitory entrance. His dangly long legs brush against yours, lingering barely. 

Since Suguru’s defection, Gojo’s gotten a lot more contemplative. He hides it a lot, especially with Megumi and Tsumiki around, but there are times that you catch him spacing out. There’s a far away look on his face and his demeanor completely shifts, rambunctiousness fading into something more restrained, if only in that moment. 

Other times, you’re let into that space with him, like now. 

“I do.” he replies, uncharacteristically succinct. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it. 

You weren’t expecting it, to be honest. With everything that’s happened to him so far, you were ready for a flat out cynical ‘no’. But—

“But,” he continues, “not for me.” 

There’s the ‘but’. 

He turns to look at you, eyes covered by the bandages he’s been opting for more recently. You’ve known Gojo since you were both 15, and somehow, you’ve gotten good at guessing what he’s always hiding. 

“You wanna tell me why?” you nudge. You figure this is good for him—or at least you hope it is. 

Getting Gojo to actually sit and have a real conversation with you has been increasingly difficult since Suguru disappeared. Taking in the Fushiguros, then the higher ups assigning him missions back-to-back-to-back—it’s been a lot. And you worry about him, if he’s even been able to sit down and process everything, if he’s even given himself the chance to feel for once. 

“Not really,” he shrugs, turning back to the garden in front of you. There isn’t much to discuss, it either fits in his life or doesn’t. When he’s meant for a purpose much larger than himself, small wants remain at just that: small, negligible. 

You huff, unable to hide your disappointment, “Okay.” 

But, you respect him and what he wants (or does not want) to say. 

As you stare out with him, Gojo eyes you from the side, the pout on your lips a teenage souvenir you still carry now at 23. He breaks into a small smile, the corners of his lips curving up slightly, fondly. 

“It’s just not meant for me, that’s all.” 

He doesn’t look at you when he says that, too. 

You slowly avert your gaze from the grass in front of you, focusing on him instead. His smile is still there, although it feels resigned, like he’s accepted this long ago. 

Gojo has never been meant to handle something so delicate and fragile—his divinity keeps him untouchable from such pure things. 

Still, you want to tell him that that’s not true. That you think love is meant for everyone, even in this fucked up, cursed world—especially in this fucked up, cursed world. 

You want to tell him that love is meant for him too. 

“Do you wish it were?”

He hums, arms stretching back as he leans on his wrists. His head dips back, looking at the sky. There’s a pause, then an exhale before he continues, “There’s no point thinking about it, I guess.” 

A non-answer. You take what you can get; it’s hard enough getting Gojo to be honest with you, much less talk about things like this. The night continues this way: you exchange anecdotes about your latest missions, then talk about Megumi’s most recent involvement in a school incident. Serious questions pop up here and there but you don’t push, and Gojo is willing to share what he can. 

.

.

.

You are 23 when you first ask Gojo if he believes in love, and he does, but what he doesn’t tell you is this: that he only believes it because he sees it in you—through the things you do, for Megumi and Tsumiki. For him too. 

There’s always been this unspoken thing between the two of you. He doesn’t know what to call it—never has, but it’s comfortable and safe, so he tries to keep it that way. 

Suguru has left an unpatchable hole inside of him that only you can seem to touch, softening the jaggedy edges so it doesn’t cut as deep. When he first showed up with Megumi and Tsumiki that one Friday night, you had all the questions in the world; he could see it, feel it in the furrow of your brows and the tapping of your foot. But instead, you asked this: “Have you guys eaten dinner yet?”

Gojo cannot afford love, not yet. Not when there’s still so much at risk, still so much to do. The cons significantly outweigh the pros on both ends, so this will have to do for now—this unspoken thing, that he hopes one day, he can finally call for what it really is.

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[ghostbsuter]

Magicians way

A Zatara meets a Drake before the Young Justice-fication of Danny!

1/4 previous interactions

.・゜-: ✧ :-

The portal closes, and waddling in comes a teen in his PJ's, a space themed blanket thrown around his shoulders and hair dishevelled.

In all honesty, he looks like he'd just worked up and dragged himself here.

Probably what happened.

"Oh, so you get to call me at 4 am on a Friday night and when I do it it's suddenly a crime?" The teen scowls, glaring daggers at Constantine, who'd had told the big Bat he was going to call in reinforcement.

He didn't expect a child.

"Get over her shrimp," the man waves the teen over, throwing an arm around the blanked clad shoulders.

"Batsy, meet Danny. He's my kid."

Ah.

"Nice to meet ya," the kid yawns, literally dozing off on John's side. "'m gonna sleep."

At least the man seems somewhat regretting for pulling the kids from his impromptu nap?

"Sorry, kiddo, need some help here. Did Zee go hard on you during the day?"

Danny whines, but answers despite the disturbance. "Mom had to leave for a show, I didn't go along, ended up on an adventure that took a bit too much out of me."

John snorts, ruffling unruly black hair.

"One of the bat's birds will join us shortly. I needed a second opinion, minx helping?"

Interested, Danny peered up at his dad, raising a brow in question.

"There is a powerful entity currently free, I'm having difficulties identifying it." He explains. "Did anyone mess with Pandoras box? This feels like something not supposed to be on our side of existence."

Brows knitting together, he thinks. "No, I was the last and most recent one to have accidentally messed with her box." He admits. "But every monster has been contained. There shouldn't be one free, we would have noticed."

John hums, picking through his well used brown leather bag, grabbing a sack of ash.

"It doesn't feel like a demon, lest a fallen angel. It's unique in its own kind that I had to get you for help, it shares the same feeling as the curses inside of pandoras box."

Catching on, Danny stares. "You think one of her curses got away and formed a humanoid form, not much different from city spirits."

Nodding, golden glow follows the words the laughing magician speaks, answering his question with the usage of ash.

Danny looks away, knowing the spell already and meets the whites of a domino mask.

That's not batman.

Squinting, he recognises the vigilante.

That's Red Robin!

"Red Robin, right?" He asks, just to make sure.

Red Robin nods.

"Nice to meet you, heard some stuff, pretty cool in my opinion."

"What exactly did you hear."

"Stuff here and there." Is the vague answer, the bird only continued to watch him, slightly unnervingly.

"Well—"

"Kid! Got an answer!"

"Let's talk again, okay?"

He couldn't answer before danny left to go to constantine.

That was... weird.

"B, what just happened?"

Batman only shakes his head. Huh.

[cursedzucchini]

DC x DP prompt #5

This is so dumb but Danny is Bruce's uncle.

And not in the Danny is old or whatever, no, my dude is 15 looks like he's 13 and when he was running away from home, he met this really really old lady which looked at him, looked at his wounds and went "aight I'm adopting u"

Danny thought she was a ghost and this was her obsession, so imagine his surprise when it turned out that not only this lady was alive, but also supposedly from very influential family??? Danny wasn't sure Abt that one, bc he himself never heard abt these "Waynes" like that just sounds weird, but hey. It made the lady happy so.

Anyway they part ways, bc the lady only wanted to adopt not care, and Danny decides, hey now that I have a new fam, maybe i should get to know them or something?

Well imagine his surprise when he found out some guy in his fifties is supposedly his nephew and has like bazillion kids.

Idk what happens next yada yada sheniganas happen and than Danny ends up in Gotham. And meets Bruce Wayne. Who obviously sees young child w si gns of abuse, black hair, blue eyes and is immidietly like "aight I'm adopting u" (like grandma like grandson huh)

Only this time, Danny is sure he isn't a ghost, and has a counter argument "u can't adopt me I'm ur uncle" and immidietly flees bc dealing w his problems isn't something he does.

Cue confused batfam or stuff idk, I'm so tired and this is just an excuse for crack

[pup-pee]

bart having 2 learn how 2 run again would ruin me

[ayo-edebiri]

help

[cinnaminsvga]

Harana Preview | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, fluff, angst → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, so much yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: anticipated 10-15K → a/n: what da hell who is she... HEY SO its been a while since ive written anything longer than 2k words and i really wanted to get back into writing, if only for practice... plus this is part of my heart full of hugot series that i teased literally eons ago and i want to finish it before the year ends... pray for my sanity ( ; ω ; )

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture. 

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat. 

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk. 

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you continue, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence. 

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and purse your lips uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away. 

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door. 

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice. 

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off. 

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note. 

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you. 

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole. 

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero. 

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation. 

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

You are the daughter of an angelic faerie and an elven king. You have grown up inside the only magical safe-haven of an increasingly apocalyptic land outside. You have wanted for nothing, essentially leading the perfect life, suffering and death playing little role beyond the abstract. Your father will never die, and your mother will never leave, but for tradition you are still crown princess and are educated as such. You love to dance and to sing.

You meet some kind of monster inside your mother's borders, a monster not of her or your making. It stumbled across you, dancing in the forest, bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as it stares. You are stronger than it, but you run rather than lunge for the kill. You feel pity, more than fear. And something about him makes the part of you that you inherited from your mother sing.

He tries to follow you, for a year and a day. You are stronger, and faster, and stealthier, and you let him see you sometimes anyways. You are not convinced that he is not a monster, but nor are you convinced that he is.

Spring blooms again to the tune of your song, and you let him get closer than before until you run.

But you hear him speak for the first time. He is a speaker, and perhaps to him you are the monster. You do not run, and you do not kill.

He calls you "Tinuviel"

He calls you nightingale- a little songbird, plain and brown, with a lovely voice. They are your mother's creation, but he does not know this.

He calls you daughter of twilight- perhaps for your skin and eyes and hair, but perhaps because that is when he has seen you most.

He calls you singer- creator of the very fabric of the universe, skilled enough to deserve the title.

You are the most beautiful creature the world will ever see, the daughter of an angel and a king. He does not call you beautiful, or angelic, or princess. He calls you a singer, plain and brown, dark and distant as the approaching night.

He is bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as you dare to step closer.

He called you nightingale.

You don't know what to call him, but you hope to find out.